


Pushed To the Wall

by Mums_the_Word



Category: White Collar
Genre: A Deadly Scourge, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Murders, Gen, Revenge, Vendettas, a Mortal Sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27383257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/pseuds/Mums_the_Word
Summary: Someone is trying to kill Neal, and the whole White Collar team is in jeopardy of becoming collateral damage in a deadly war, especially Peter, who is hanging onto life by a thread. Neal is in the dark about his would-be assassin, or the reason he has been marked for death. Alliances begin to shift and become convoluted, and at the conclusion of this dangerous drama, Neal emerges a different man—someone he never thought he would be.
Relationships: Diana Berrigan & Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey & Matthew Keller, Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Neal Caffrey & Reese Hughes, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 60
Kudos: 137





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pechika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pechika/gifts).



> Pechika requested a story with a theme in which Neal harms Peter and then feels enormous guilt. It took a while, but here it finally is. And, since this is a multi-chapter saga, I’ll post frequently during the week so that readers can stayed engaged and not lose the thread of the story.

Neal opened the front door to June’s mansion at the end of a somewhat less than productive White Collar workday. He and Peter were trying to make some headway tracking down a stolen Chagall drawing, which had previously resided in archival storage at the Met. While Peter attempted to unearth a possible money trail, Neal had utilized his street contacts in that nebulous underground network to gain some insights regarding the slick culprit responsible for the heist. Each man was doing what he did best, and the synergy of their partnership was working at full tilt. Neal was actually relieved that his relationship with Peter had attained more stable ground. Recently, it had been a bit rocky, thanks to Neal’s duplicitous father. During those dauntingly tense weeks, there had been more downs than ups in their partnership until a head-to-head confrontation between Agent and CI cleared the air and a friendship was finally resurrected. Neal actually hated conflict of any kind, although he could hold his own if pushed to the wall. He was thankful their situation hadn’t ultimately reached that dire point. 

The house was quiet as he let himself into the foyer. June was away on an extended holiday in the Hawaiian Islands, and who could blame her when the January temperatures in New York City hovered below freezing every day. A rented cottage on Lanai was probably a warm and cozy haven right now for the elderly but elegant lady. Of course, June’s small staff still came in for a few hours each day to maintain the house, but the vast mansion seemed to echo without the stylish matron within its walls.

After closing the door, Neal noted there was a small package sitting on the mahogany table just inside the entryway. Apparently, it had been delivered by the mailman this morning and the maid had thoughtfully placed it where Neal could see that it was addressed to him. The unexpected parcel wasn’t very heavy, so Neal toted it upstairs to his loft where he slit open the packing box with a knife. Inside were two one-pound bags of ground Kona coffee. There wasn’t a note attached, but Kona coffee is the trademark brew grown in the Hawaiian Islands, so Neal suspected that June had been thinking of him during her long absence. A smile reached his lips, with Neal realizing, not for the first time, just how fortunate he was to have found June Ellington in a city of eight and a half million people. She had become more of a mother to him than his own, and he truly loved her. However, he really didn’t love Kona coffee, preferring the bolder and more robust flavor of a good French or Italian roast. Nonetheless, the gift was appreciated and shouldn’t go to waste, so he decided to take it into the office the next morning and put it in the breakroom. All the White Collar drones deserved to share in the joy. An expected phone call from Mozzie later that night put Neal in an even better frame of mine. Now there was a definite break in the Chagall robbery case.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal reached the office the next morning and trotted briskly up to Peter’s office. His handler was hunched over a laptop with his brow furrowed in concentration. “I’ve been monitoring large banking transactions in and out of New York since the Met heist, and nothing is pinging my radar so far,” he said somberly.

“You’re wasting your time,” Neal remarked quite casually. “The Chagall hasn’t been sold yet. I have it on good authority that it’s still in the hands of a local fence and money hasn’t yet changed hands. I don’t know who the actual thief was, but I may have a name for the fellow presently in possession of the drawing,” Neal said with a smug smile.

“Do tell,” Peter said as he sat back and looked at his CI with a proud grin.

Neal provided an identity for the middleman in the pending transaction. Peter looked thoughtful before making a decision as to how to handle the information Neal had given him. “I’ll have some agents shadow the fence until I can get a warrant to toss his place. If we find the item in question, we can lean on him hard enough so that he may cough up a name if we make it worth his while.”

“Another win for the A-Team,” Neal smiled. “Caffrey and Burke are formidable and dogged partners in their quest for justice.”

“I think you mean Burke and Caffrey, in that order,” Peter objected.

“But who brought you the goods like a belated Christmas present tied up in a big red bow?” Neal teased. “Maybe I should get a raise for all my hard work on this case.”

Peter glowered even though he was secretly pleased. “So, are you having money issues, Buddy? Are you presently short on cash and forced to brown-bag your lunch these days?” Peter asked as he eyed the paper sack in Neal’s hand.

“No, I’ve actually brought you another present,” Neal countered as he set the package containing the coffee in the center of Peter’s desk.

Peter seemed impressed. “This is really good stuff. How come you’re giving it to me?”

“June sent it to me while she’s vacationing in Hawaii. I’m not really a fan of Kona; I prefer a bolder blend steeped in a coffee press. So, I thought I’d bring it in so that you and all the other poor indentured government slaves could enjoy a bit of upscale ambrosia,” Neal said magnanimously.

“You are such an epicurean snob,” Peter snarked.

“What can I say,” Neal chirped. “June has spoiled me for the finer things in life.”

“Only you could manage to find a fairy godmother less than one day out of prison,” Peter said sarcastically. “Too bad that your enchanted life also has a troll lurking under a bridge.”

“Oh, c’mon, Peter. Don’t be that way. Mozzie always speaks highly of you,” Neal teased.

“Yeah, I’ll just bet he has a lot to say about me,” was Peter’s cynical reply as he stood up and began making his way towards the coffee machine in the break room. Before long, an enticingly rich and pungent aroma filled the air.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, Chagall’s “ _Snow, Winter in Vitebsk”_ had been recovered and returned to its rightful place at the Met. The twitchy fence had rolled over like a frightened Bassett Hound and hastily cut a deal, enabling the FBI to arrest and charge the actual thief and prospective buyer. Game, set, match! Now it was on to the next case. However, this time it was rather slow going because of a manpower shortage. It seemed that some kind of flu bug had taken up residence in the White Collar unit. Agents were reluctantly calling out in droves, and even Peter finally had to throw in the towel when extreme bouts of vomiting and diarrhea laid him low. The horrendous symptoms lingered, getting worse instead of better as the days dragged on. He expressly forbid Neal to stop by the house because he didn’t want his CI to catch whatever this damn thing was. So, Neal kept in contact by phone with Peter as well as Diana and Jones, who were initially part of the walking wounded until Hughes declared that they and their germs should vacate the White Collar premises. New, unfamiliar agents were temporarily assigned to the bullpen until the only face Neal recognized was Reese Hughes. When the crusty old SAC strode out onto the balcony and gave Neal the two-fingered summons, the con man’s heart sank. That little come-hither gesture into the old man’s inner sanctum surely didn’t bode well.

Neal stood quietly with his hands clasped in front of him as Hughes wearily sat down in his desk chair. Peter’s boss looked up at Neal speculatively and arched an eyebrow. “This unexpected medical turn of events presents a problem,” he began in a low, almost menacing voice.

“You mean that I’m now the problem, or should I say, what to do with me is the problem,” Neal finished the thought for Hughes.

“You really are a bright boy, Caffrey,” Hughes agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

Neal knew he shouldn’t have been surprised by this latest quandary. The only reason he had managed to gain a place in the White Collar Unit was because Peter had been willing to take a chance on him. It wasn’t some comfortable little niche for the former felon. It was a precarious position that was a day-by-day experiment that could go to hell in the blink of an eye. Peter literally held Neal’s lifeline in his hands, although in this case, it was a bulky black tracking anklet. That piece of jewelry just underscored suspicion and trust issues, if not with Peter, then with every other agent that Neal interacted with in the course of doing his job. Hughes had never been a fan of the whole work-release deal, and now he had the opportunity to derail it. The question hung in the air—would he?

“Caffrey, it seems as if our immune systems must be working overtime,” the old man mused. “We’re the last men standing at this juncture, and that is definitely not a good thing. I talked with Agent Burke’s wife this morning, and according to her, Peter seems to be getting worse rather than better, so there’s no telling when he’ll be able to return to this office. You’ll be unsupervised and that makes me very uncomfortable.”

Neal stood stiffly as if before a firing squad. “I can see where that might bother you, Sir.”

Without blinking, Hughes asked an uncharacteristically probing question. “If you were in my position, Caffrey, what would you do about your situation?”

“Trust me?” Neal murmured softly with a question in his voice.

Hughes pushed back in his chair and his eyes took on a faraway look of reminiscence. “When Peter Burke arrived in this office almost a decade ago, I realized immediately that he had unlimited potential. He was perceptive and savvy and dedicated, the very best attributes in a federal agent. Over the years, he has since earned my respect, both personally and professionally, and I have come to trust his intuition. He had a feeling about you, Caffrey. Personally, I never saw what he saw in you, but I allowed him the latitude to test his hypothesis. You’re still here, so maybe Peter was right. You’ve had plenty of opportunities to fly the coop, so lay it out for me. Why haven’t you run?”

Neal took a breath, and, for once, was totally honest. “For the exact reasons you just mentioned, Sir. I’ve come to admire and respect Peter, both personally and professionally, and I trust him. I would never want to have him feel that I abused his faith in me.”

“I’m sure that trust doesn’t extend to me,” Hughes tried to bait Peter’s CI.

“I can give it my best shot until you give me a reason not to,” Neal replied evenly. “Besides, if I mess up, it will ultimately blow back on Peter, and that’s not something I’d ever want to happen.”

Hughes produced a cynical little smile. “So, it would seem that Peter Burke is the glue that may bind us together if I decide to let you stay.”

“Are you going to let me stay?” Neal challenged.

“Perhaps for the time being,” Hughes replied. “Just so you know, the Marshal’s app has been downloaded to my phone and I’ll be getting an alert if you put one toe outside of your radius. In fact, I want you in this office every day from 9 to 5 until further notice. No gallivanting around the city or even to the Burke home. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Neal readily agreed as he gazed at the wily old man. The sly fox obviously had made his decision about Neal’s fate long before he had ever summoned the paroled felon into his office. This whole tense confrontation was just a demonstration of the power Hughes held over Neal, and it was meant as a means of intimidation. Well, Neal had survived intimidating inmates in prison. Tolerating a mean old buzzard like Hughes was a cakewalk.

~~~~~~~~~~

After leaving Hughes’ office, Neal immediately placed a call to Peter’s home. He wanted to hear a firsthand update on Peter’s status as well as having an opportunity to tell him that Hughes had granted him a temporary reprieve. Instead of Peter, Elizabeth answered the phone.

“I’m really worried, Neal,” El said with a tinge of fear in her voice. “We’ve been to the doctor twice but he doesn’t know what’s causing this horrible thing to go on unchecked. Peter seems to be on a downward spiral. He’s still feverish and continues to have abdominal pain and terrible bouts of vomiting and bloody diarrhea. He’s getting weaker and weaker. I’ve talked with both Diana and Jones, and they have similar symptoms but not to the extreme degree as Peter. He’s definitely dehydrated and I’m contemplating taking him to the emergency room.”

“Do it, Elizabeth,” Neal urged. “Dehydration means his blood pressure is compromised. Get him treatment before it becomes something they can’t fix with intravenous fluids.”

Elizabeth was right. Peter was dangerously ill and was admitted for supportive treatment. Blood cultures were taken as well as nose and throat swabs, but so far, nothing could be identified as the culprit. Neal felt hampered by the fact he couldn’t visit per Hughes’ dictate. “They have him quarantined, so you really can’t be in his room,” the old man explained.

“But maybe I should be there for Elizabeth,” Neal wheedled.

“Talk to her by phone, Caffrey. I don’t need you getting sick, too. We’re the last remnants of the White Collar Team still walking around. Even some of the new transfers have come down with this thing, so I’ve called in a team of forensic medical specialists to see where this germ is lurking in our office.”

Hughes had been as good as his word. The next day, a brigade of medical forensic experts arrived on the floor and began taking samples of everything nailed down, and even some things that weren’t. They took air samples from the ventilation system, although that seemed an unlikely source of the disease since the ductwork in the building encompassed several unaffected floors. They tested the water in the taps, the soap in the bathroom dispensers, any leftover food in the refrigerator, and they swabbed every agent’s desk, laptop, and telephone. Then the tedious wait ensued to see what grew on their myriad of petri dishes. Hopefully, it would be something they could treat.

Seventy-two hours later, the scientists reviewed their results and were successful in finding the vector. That identification hadn’t come from their swabs or dust or air samples, but rather from a mass spectrometer analysis that had ionized and vaporized a fluid into a magnetic field. Neal watched as some of the specialists congregated in the conference room along with Reese Hughes and his boss, Kyle Bancroft. The CI was shocked when Hughes sauntered out of the glass doors on the second floor and boomed impatiently, “Caffrey, get in here now!”

Neal double-timed it up the stairs to join the somber-looking party. He gazed from one solemn face to the next and couldn’t get an accurate read on the situation, or why he was now part of it.

“What’s happened?” Neal asked almost fearfully. “Has Peter gotten even worse?”

Bancroft ignored Neal’s question for the moment and got to the heart of the matter. “It was a difficult scavenger hunt but these medical specialists finally managed to pinpoint the source of what has been causing the present illness plaguing this unit.”

One of the technicians took this as his cue to speak up. “We isolated the source of the problem. It was the coffee,” he intoned gravely.

“Coffee made everybody sick?” Neal asked incredulously.

“Did you ever drink the blend of coffee that is currently in the breakroom?” Bancroft asked evenly.

“No, not really,” Neal answered.

“Why not?” came the strident query.

“I don’t especially care for Kona,” Neal answered honestly.

“And I didn’t drink it either because I have atrial fibrillation, so I stay away from caffeine,” Hughes intoned.

“What was wrong with the coffee?” Neal asked in a dazed voice.

One of the technicians again entered the conversation. “Well, you see it wasn’t just ground coffee beans in that particular blend. Apparently, a fair number of castor beans had been added as well. Raw castor beans contain ricin. The affected personnel in this office didn’t get sick from a microbe. They were poisoned by a very powerful and deadly toxin.”

Bancroft was now glowering at Neal. “And it is my understanding, after talking to other agents, that you were the one to bring that tainted coffee into this office!”


	3. Chapter 3

The forensic medical specialists had departed and it was now just Bancroft, Hughes, and Neal left in the conference room. The young con man felt blindsided by this latest development. He had sunk down into a chair as he endured both of the older men’s piercing stares and their non-stop questions that came just short of accusing him of attempted murder.

Neal had been forthcoming and told his story over and over, even offering to take a polygraph to prove that he was telling the truth. He reiterated that he had received the coffee by mail and he assumed it was a gift from his landlady, who was vacationing in Hawaii. No, there wasn’t a note enclosed, nor was there a return address. Because he didn’t personally care for the blend, he had brought it into the office so it wouldn’t go to waste. By now, the original packaging with a postmark had been picked up by the weekly garbage truck and was probably in a landfill somewhere in Jersey. He couldn’t give them any more details.

“We’ll need a contact number and address for your landlady to verify if she actually sent the coffee to you,” Bancroft said menacingly.

“Sure, no problem,” Neal readily agreed. “If it did come from Hawaii, do you think the tampering occurred there?”

That question was answered quite quickly when June was located by phone on Lanai and claimed the coffee hadn’t come from her. “More than likely, it was mailed a lot closer to home, if you really did get it that way,” Bancroft mused. “Of course, maybe you simply decided to try your hand at a little Lucretia Borgia stuff all on your own, Caffrey. I keep my finger on the pulse of my departments, so I happen to know that you and Peter Burke have had some issues recently.”

“No, no, no,” Neal shook his head adamantly. “I would never intentionally hurt Peter.”

Hughes decided to chime in at that moment. “Well, if you’re telling the truth, and the package was really meant for you, then somebody definitely doesn’t want you to continue breathing,” the old man said thoughtfully. “How many enemies are we talking about if that is the scenario?”

“Unfortunately, quite a few,” Neal admitted. “Look, can we just table that for a minute? I need to know if Peter is going to get better after this bout of poisoning.”

Hughes grimaced. “The physicians at the hospital treating Peter have been made aware of the ricin ingestion. I’ve been told that there is no antidote, just supportive therapy like activated charcoal to bind with the toxin before attempting to flush it from his intestinal system. It really depends on the amount that he consumed versus body mass. Peter’s a big man, so that’s in his favor.”

“But he really likes his coffee,” Neal murmured miserably.

Finally, Bancroft seemed to soften a little. “Caffrey, you are to stay planted in that chair while Agent Hughes and I go next door to his office to discuss how to go forward.”

Neal nodded mutely.

“So, what do you think?” Bancroft asked Hughes when they were alone. “Do you believe your resident felon, or is he trying to con us with some innocent choirboy act?”

Hughes looked serious. “Caffrey’s been here for three years, and I’m not going to say there haven’t been bumps in the road. He can get on your last nerve without breaking a sweat. Even with that being said, I just can’t see him attempting to harm Peter Burke. What would that get him? Without Burke, he has to realize it’s back to prison for him. Nobody else in their right mind would take him on. And from what I could intuit, those two men really do share a close bond, even when they’re at odds.”

“So, you’re leaning toward the theory that Caffrey was the intended target instead of the whole White Collar team,” Bancroft intoned solemnly.

“That just may be the case, and that’s a whole other kettle of fish. I doubt Caffrey’s going to cough up any nefarious cohorts from his past. On the other hand, he was responsible for putting a lot of crooks away while he’s been working here with Burke. Perhaps we may have to face the fact that we’ll never know who was behind this.”

“Well, if we send Caffrey back to prison, then it’s somebody’s else’s problem to look after his continued good health,” Bancroft was brutally frank.

“Is that what we do here at the Bureau?” Hughes asked softly. “Do we throw what we deem as our expendable responsibilities to the wolves when they endanger the herd?”

“That was harsh, Reese,” Bancroft grumbled. “I’m just looking at the big picture and trying to be pragmatic.”

Hughes frowned. “Well, I’m looking at the big picture, too. What if Neal’s hell-bent assassin is somebody that he helped Peter take down while doing his job here at White Collar? Maybe this has nothing to do with Caffrey’s past, but instead, it’s all about what he’s been doing in the present timeframe. We owe him something for the successes he’s made possible.”

“Are you trying to guilt me into looking out for a con artist?” Bancroft asked.

“Is it working?” Hughes wanted to know.

Bancroft sighed. “I’m going to give you a little latitude, Reese, because the long years of your service merit that. Come up with a plan and keep me in the loop.”

Hughes gave a curt nod before accompanying Bancroft to the elevators. Before the visitor left, Hughes made a point. “If Peter Burke can manage to get back on his feet, he and Caffrey are an excellent team when they put their heads together. They’ll get this depraved bastard and take him off the streets.”

The visiting Special Agent in Charge didn’t look totally convinced as he stepped into the arriving elevator car. Hughes turned and wearily trudged back up the stairs to the conference room. This whole mess was a convoluted knot, and why wouldn’t it be when Caffrey was involved. Life had been so much simpler before the young felon had pushed through those glass doors looking like a hyperactive teenager following on the heels of his new chaperone. Well, it was what it was, and Hughes knew he was out on a limb and there was no going back. He hoped Peter and Neal were as good as the hype he had force-fed Bancroft.

Neal looked up guardedly when Hughes joined him. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Hughes deadpanned.

“So, you believe me?” Neal wanted to know.

“Let’s just say, at this juncture, that I’m willing to entertain that premise. However, if I find that you are lying, I will make sure that you’ll return to prison for the rest of your life without the possibility of parole. Do I make myself clear, Caffrey?”

“Crystal,” Neal replied.

“So, right now I’m just looking at the facts analytically and following the dots,” Hughes continued. “The coffee was sent to you at your home, and it’s a well-known fact that Kona is the particular type of bean cultivated and harvested in the Hawaiian Islands. Ergo, someone has been keeping tabs on your life and was aware that your landlady recently left to vacation there. That means you have a stalker. That unknown person assumed you would drink the coffee, not bring it into the office to share with your teammates. Unfortunately, at that point, each agent in this office became collateral damage in whatever war you’re involved in.”

“The term ‘collateral damage’ seems inadequate to describe what happened to Peter and the others,” Neal answered hollowly.

“How about the war? Any insights?” Hughes asked quite seriously.

“Nobody immediately comes to mind,” Neal claimed.

Hughes put his hands on his hips and stared down at Neal. “Well, start pulling all the files of every case that you and Peter have closed since you’ve been here. Dig down deep and let me know immediately if anyone piques your interest. From now on, you and I are going to be working as a team, so I want to know every detail. Give me an update before you leave the office today.”

Neal had a poker face, so Hughes saw none of the frustration and dread Neal felt after hearing that he and Hughes were going to be joined at the hip from now on. “Do you think it would be okay if I went to see Peter after work?” Neal asked timidly. “I know the hospital is out of my radius, but maybe you could make an exception.”

Hughes looked at Neal steadily. “Just tonight—to the hospital and then home. Don’t try pushing the envelope, boy!”

“Thank you, Sir,” Neal answered quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

For the remainder of the day, Neal slogged through almost a quarter of the old cases he and Peter had worked. The Burke-Caffrey team had managed to put a lot of bad guys away, starting with The Dutchman, Curtis Hagen. According to the criminal justice records, Hagen was still languishing in a federal prison, as was every other criminal who had landed in Peter and Neal’s crosshairs. At 5 o’clock, Neal entered Hughes’ office and told his new partner how fruitless the search was so far. Of course, the old man wasn’t happy, but he still stood by his promise to let Neal visit Peter in the hospital.

“Remember, Caffrey, I can see exactly where you go on my phone, so don’t get dodgy,” he threatened.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir,” Neal replied earnestly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal cabbed it to the Brooklyn Medical Center and then wended his way through a serpentine path to the Intensive Care Unit. He found Peter lying inside a glass cubicle. He looked ghostly pale and it was obvious he had lost a considerable amount of weight from his 6’2” frame. Elizabeth was seated on a chair next to her sleeping husband.

“How’s he doing?” Neal whispered as he entered quietly.

A tired and drawn Elizabeth looked up at the visitor and sighed. “He’s holding his own right now, maybe not quite as sick as he was. They’ve given him a sedative to help him rest more comfortably.”

“Elizabeth, I’m so very sorry this happened to him,” Neal began his apology, but El talked over him.

“I know all about the tainted coffee, Neal,” she said almost bitterly.

There was a strained silence and Neal didn’t know quite how to fill the void. Eventually, Elizabeth took up the slack. “Peter always wanted to work in law enforcement, and the FBI was his dream job. When he told me about it after the fact, I was worried and afraid for his safety. I felt a bit more reassured when he was assigned to the White Collar division instead of something dangerous like Organized Crime. I naively thought it would be a safe little niche. He’d be taking down milquetoast accountants who finagled the company books or two-bit hustlers trying to pawn off fake Prada handbags to tourists.”

“But it became much more complicated than that,” Neal filled in the blanks.

“Oh, much, much more,” El replied as she stared hard at Neal. “Lately, it seems that his job is constantly taking him into a dark perilous world of criminals who are more dangerous than mere flimflam artists or Ponzi schemers.”

She means “lately,” as in after he started working with me, Neal mentally finished Elizabeth’s thought. She didn’t have to say the words to drive home her point. She held Neal accountable for the current threat to her husband’s life. A contrite con man sat quietly by her side until she turned to him once again. “I think you should go home, Neal. Peter will probably be sleeping for quite a while. I’ll tell him that you stopped by.”

“If there’s anything that you need, please call,” Neal offered graciously.

El merely nodded her head without meeting Neal’s eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal did a lot thinking on his ride home to Riverside Drive. Elizabeth had a right to worry. Time and again, innocent people closest to him had paid a dear price—Kate had died in an explosion, Mozzie had been shot at point-blank range, and now Peter had barely survived a horrible death from poisoning. Neal decided he was as toxic as that ricin. For years, he had played with fire, making alliances with dangerous people and flaunting his own agenda under the most perilous conditions. He had been young and stupid and, like all impetuous twenty-somethings, he had the audacity to think he was invincible. A lot of water had passed over that dam since he had fled the Midwest and came east to New York City to make his fortune. His sins were many, and the onus of that past should rightly rest on his own head, not the people that he cared about—the collateral damage victims, as Hughes had termed them. Well, he couldn’t do anything about his past, but Neal decided he could be proactive regarding the future. He was going to find this treacherous adversary and, now that Neal had his back to the wall, he was going to end the threat, once and for all.

Those were the thoughts tumbling through his mind when he let himself into his loft to find Mozzie making himself at home with a bottle of Merlot. The little bald man lifted his head and remarked casually, “I hear you have yourself a stalker with murderous mayhem on his mind, mon frère.”

“It would seem so,” Neal agreed.

“So, how’s the Suit doing?” Mozzie asked nonchalantly. “I’m assuming you had to see for yourself.”

“Still pretty sick, but he’s getting treatment for the ricin that’s still in his system,” Neal answered with a grimace. “We didn’t get a chance to talk. I’m hoping that Elizabeth will keep me updated, but that may be iffy because she’s not very happy with me right now.”

“She blames you, right?” Mozzie said with a knowing nod of his head.

“And I can’t fault her for that,” Neal replied.

“It was an honest mistake,” Mozzie insisted, “but I’m just glad that I prefer tea so I didn’t insist on partaking of your fatal little gift,” Neal’s friend shivered.

“I have to find out who wants me dead,” Neal said firmly. “They need to pay for making a lot of people sick.”

“Got any ideas?” Mozzie asked curiously.

“None,” Neal said glumly. “Hughes has stepped in as my handler, and his instructions are for me to go through every case that Peter and I worked over the last three years to determine if there’s an assassin in the mix. So far, I’ve gotten through just the first year, but nobody looks good for it. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

“Well, the FBI mentality is somewhat limited,” Mozzie snarked. “They don’t always think out of the box like brilliant con artists. Tell me what you really think, Neal.”

“Look, Moz, I have to go through the motions for Hughes because he’s the lifeline that’s currently keeping me afloat and not being shipped back to prison,” Neal explained. “I can draw the FBI cases out for a while, even though I really don’t think that’s where I’ll find my stalker. But when I shut the file on the last case without a breakthrough, Hughes is going to demand information about my past exploits, and I certainly don’t want to open that can of worms.”

“Yeah, any confessions about your past will definitely earn you a new orange jumpsuit,” Mozzie said while nodding. “Actually, your current situation gives new meaning to that old saying of finding yourself between a rock and a hard place.”

“We have to work our street contacts, Moz. We have to find out if anyone in that underworld knows anything,” Neal said. “I’ll make some calls and maybe you can show up in person. I’m a bit hampered by my radius because Hughes is probably watching my movements on his phone for the first sign of a transgression out of my green zone.”

“I’ll get on it,” Mozzie promised. “To be honest, Neal, your former associates may not be very forthcoming. A lot of them were not too happy when you went over to the dark side and started working for the Feds.”

“Just do what you can, Moz. Please,” Neal added.

“You may be putting all your eggs into one basket, mon frère,” Mozzie said thoughtfully. “It’s true that we conducted a lot of old business in the Big Apple, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. If you’ll recall, we made several long-term forays across the pond. On several occasions, we spent a fair amount of time in Europe and Asia, and that’s a mighty big playground.”

“One step at a time,” Neal answered with a frown because he knew Mozzie was right. “Start locally and maybe we’ll get lucky. I don’t remember any foreign stamps on that package of coffee, so it was definitely mailed within the United States. Whoever this person is, I think he’s right here.”

“Be careful, Neal,” Mozzie warned. “If he tries again, the second time may be the charm.”


	5. Chapter 5

For the next week, Neal continued to doggedly peruse old FBI cases under Hughes’ hawk-like eyes. Nobody looked promising. Thankfully, little by little, old faces began returning to the bullpen, and Neal felt a little less alone when Jones and Diana finally reappeared.

“Hey, guys, I’m really sorry about the coffee debacle,” Neal said sincerely.

“Never a dull moment with you around, Caffrey,” Jones said gruffly. “Just don’t bake me a cake when it’s my birthday.”

Diana took pity on Neal. “I heard that Peter may be discharged today, but maybe you already know that.”

“No, actually I didn’t know,” Neal replied slowly. “Elizabeth has a lot on her mind, and keeping me up to date really shouldn’t be a priority for her to worry about.”

Diana was sharp and could read between Neal’s carefully worded response. “Look, Neal, Peter knows that the poisoning wasn’t your fault and he doesn’t blame you, although he is hell-bent on finding out who is behind it. Elizabeth just had the scare of her life, so cut her a break. You should know that Peter lives and breathes his job and would never back down from a challenging threat to you or anybody on his team. Elizabeth knows that, too, so she’ll come around in time. Right now, you have to take up the slack until he comes back.”

“I’m working on it,” Neal replied. “In fact, Hughes has become my new personal handler and I’ve been giving him daily updates on the progress, or, unfortunately, lack of progress.”

“Poor you,” Diana commiserated. “This past week must have been hell for you.”

“I’m just glad Hughes got me a stay of execution. I think Bancroft was ready to ship my butt back to Sing Sing.”

“So, level with me, Neal. Do you know who has you in their crosshairs?” Diana whispered.

“Not yet, but like I said, I’m working on it,” Neal answered.

“Well, let me help if you need backup,” Diana said softly as she squeezed his shoulder. That unexpected display of comforting support buoyed Neal’s lagging spirits until the end of the workday when he found Mozzie again in his loft.

“I have beaten every bush and shaken every tree in this town, but I’ve unearthed absolutely nothing,” Mozzie admitted. “I really don’t think ‘the street’ has any answers for you, Neal. However, I did learn a very curious and disturbing thing. Matthew Keller has just arrived back in town. I actually took the liberty of hacking into Interpol’s database and found out they were keeping tabs on him while he was in Amsterdam for the last few months. Maybe he just went to enjoy some free recreational drugs in the coffee houses but then decided not to wait around for the tulips to bloom. Whatever—it’s always a chess game when it comes to Keller, and he usually has an endgame in mind. Taking you down could be his goal—or not. I’m just saying, he’s an old adversary with a long memory and an ax to grind, so he could be behind this.”

Neal was thoughtful. “I’m not saying that Keller isn’t capable of sending me poison, but it’s really not his style. He prefers to get up close and personal to wreak his mayhem. He’s like a predatory cat that gets tremendous pleasure from torturing a mouse before actually killing it. He wouldn’t do it from afar; he’d want me to know it was him and to see his face while he did the dastardly deed.”

“Maybe he’s just gotten lazy and doesn’t want to expend the energy,” Mozzie rebutted Neal’s words.

“That’s one possibility. I think we should confront him,” Neal said determinedly.

“Neal, you really don’t want to ask Matthew Keller to dance,” Neal’s best friend cautioned.

“Moz, we’ve come up empty on the home front. Keller was recently gallivanting in our old European stomping grounds. He may have heard something about a vendetta against me during his time abroad, and maybe he came back to the States to see how it all plays out,” Neal mused.

Mozzie didn’t look convinced. “That’s making a mighty big assumption but I’ll pander to your desperate fantasy. _If_ you do have a foreign stalker, and _if_ Keller has a name, do you really think he’d be into sharing?”

“I could make it worth his while,” Neal answered, “by dangling a really big carrot in front of his nose.” He then cupped his hands and held them up in front of him. “Discretion—greed,” he intoned as he pantomimed two items resting in his palms on a balance scale that began to seesaw up and down.

“Try to make contact and set up a meet between Keller and me. It has to be somewhere within my radius because I don’t want my keeper to get an alert from the Marshals. Having other people around would be a plus. Keller wouldn’t want witnesses if he does decide to kill me.”

“Doesn’t your new Siamese twin, Agent Hughes, keep tabs on your comings and goings?” Mozzie asked.

“Yeah, he does,” Neal confirmed, “so make the face-to-face in the wee hours of the morning. I don’t see Hughes as being a night owl watching movies of my movements after midnight. By that time, he’s probably already slurped down his Ovaltine and toddled off to bed.”

“Unless he suffers from insomnia,” Mozzie quipped. “Old people usually fall asleep on the sofa watching early evening sitcoms, and then walk the floors during the after-twelve hours because they can’t fall asleep again in their actual beds.”

“Moz, don’t complicate the issue,” Neal pleaded.

The bald man sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, mon frère.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mozzie was, indeed, a diplomatic emissary—the Henry Kissinger of this era. He had negotiated a sit-down between two warring factions where they could literally lay their cards on the table.

“Okay, Neal, here’s how it’s all going to go down. I called in a big favor and got you and Keller seats in a very exclusive, after-hours poker game in Chinatown that is by invitation only. There is no limit on any stakes that are wagered, so we’re talking big money here. I’ll make some wire transfers from the Caribbean account so you can arrive well-heeled and ready to rumble. You wanted witnesses, so at least two other players will be at the table as well as two or three security thugs hovering nearby to keep things civil. It’s not an ideal situation, but it’s the best scenario I could manage.”

“Thanks, Moz, I owe you,” Neal said appreciatively.

“Didn’t think we were keeping score,” Neal’s devoted cohort said mildly. “Can you still count cards, Neal?”

“I’m not as good as you counting cards, Moz, but we’ll be playing poker, not blackjack.”

“My bad,” Mozzie acknowledged. “So, how’s your poker face?”

“Perfect,” Neal reassured his friend.

“Just be aware that you’ll be subjected to a pretty thorough body search, so there is no possibility of having any aces up your sleeve,” Mozzie warned.

“I’ll be just fine, but I’m wondering if Keller would be willing to share intel in front of others,” Neal mused thoughtfully.

Mozzie pooh-poohed that worry. “Neal, what goes on in that room stays in that room. Your fellow cardplayers are all aware of that fact, and also what would happen to them if they chose to divulge any information. They’ll keep their traps shut out of a desire for self-preservation. Plotting an invasion of Russia could be discussed, and not a peep would get out.”

“I just want a name, not the strategy for waging World War III,” Neal answered. “Hopefully, I’ll leave with that as well as a pile of money to refill our offshore coffers.”

“Uh-huh,” was all the response Neal got from his cynical partner in crime.

~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, Neal was overjoyed to get a phone call from his old handler. “Peter,” he breathed gratefully, “it’s so great to hear your voice. I wanted to come see you in the hospital, but Hughes is keeping me on a tight leash.”

“Yeah, I heard. How’s that going for you?” Peter asked skeptically.

“I’m managing, so don’t worry,” Neal said. “He has me tucked away in the office going over every case we’ve ever worked on together since I got out of prison on parole.”

“And?” Peter nudged.

“And nothing,” Neal admitted. “I don’t think the culprit is lurking in the reams of material I’ve already read.”

“But you haven’t told Hughes that, have you,” Peter intoned wisely.

“Well, maybe I have been drawing this out for reasons of my own,” the con man replied slowly.

“Right,” his usual handler said with a snort. “If you’re hitting a wall with our old cases, that would mean that your would-be killer is someone from your past and you don’t want to share old less-than-legal tales with Hughes.”

“Exactly,” Neal replied honestly. “Hughes is not some priest in a confessional. It’s unlikely he’d uphold the sanctity of silence under the seal of a Catholic sacrament. I’d be back in prison before I managed to mumble even one Hail Mary.”

“But you may think that I would protect your back,” Peter said softly.

“Let’s not go there, okay,” Neal quickly replied. “Look, Peter, I haven’t even had time to tell you how sorry I am that you were put in danger because of me. I know Elizabeth is really upset about that. I…”

“Now it’s my turn to say, ‘don’t go there,’ Neal,” Peter interrupted his CI. “None of this is your fault. El and I had a very frank discussion and we’ve ironed out some issues. Besides wanting to treat me like a fragile invalid, she admitted that she desperately needed somebody to blame for my illness. You were the easiest target because she knew you wouldn’t fight back. We hashed it out, and she’s now willing to accept the fact that danger is part and parcel of what I do.”

“Sometimes what people say in the heat of the moment is more truthful because all the filters have been removed,” Neal said softly. “I can certainly understand Elizabeth’s point of view.”

Peter sighed. “El knows that being my wife means accepting who and what I am. If you love someone, you don’t try to change them. I’m your handler, so I’m responsible for you, and that’s not going to change unless you do some knuckleheaded thing to make me reconsider. El is my partner, but then so are you in a different way. We can all make this work.”

“I hope so,” Neal murmured before ending the phone connection with the one lawman that he truly trusted.


	6. Chapter 6

Two nights later found Neal submitting to a really intimate body search in Lower Manhattan. He tried not to cringe when the finer aspects of his physique located below his belt were roughly jostled. As was the protocol, he emptied his pockets and surrendered his sports jacket before a thick wad of greenbacks was returned to him and he was allowed into the underground inner sanctum. His three game opponents were already seated around a round green felt table with an overhanging shaded light fixture. The players were a mixed bag. There was a rail-thin Eurasian woman of an indeterminate age, a thick-waisted swarthy fellow beginning to bald, and lastly, a smirking Keller looking smarmy.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in!” Keller taunted. “Aren’t you out past your curfew, Neal? Papa Burke wouldn’t be very happy if he knew you were hobnobbing in the company of some less than appropriate companions. Be careful he doesn’t discipline you by putting you in a time-out.”

Neal didn’t take the bait. “I’m here to play cards, not games of ‘King of the Hill,’ Keller,” Neal said evenly. “If you think your insults will rattle my concentration, think again. I’m immune to your sad parlor tricks.”

“Can we cut the table talk and just get down to playing poker,” the anonymous overweight man grumbled as he grabbed the deck and began flinging over cards to determine who was to be the designated dealer. Neal and Keller stared at each other hard before placing their chips before them and settling into a very serious game of chance.

Two hours later, both the extraneous mystery woman and the complaining middle-aged fellow were absent, having been bankrupted by the many superior hands that were played by their opponents. There was almost a half-million dollars now sitting in front of Neal and Matthew Keller. It was down to crunch time. Neal had dealt both his hand and Keller’s under the watchful eyes of the Chinese sentries. Keller held back two of his cards and discarded three. Neal dealt him three more and then mimicked his opponent’s actions by discarding three of his own and claiming three more.

“I think it’s time to wrap this up, so I’m going to call you out, Neal,” Keller said condescendingly as he pushed all his chips into the center of the table.

Neal didn’t flinch. “I’ll show you mine after you show me yours,” he said softly as he added his own chips into the pot.

Keller was happy to do so because he suspected he had the winning hand. He was an excellent poker player as well as a chess genius. Caffrey couldn’t hold a candle to his expertise, so he tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a smile as he began turning over three of his cards, all queens.

“Let’s give these pretty ladies names, shall we?” he crowed. “Here’s Kate,” he declared as he tapped the Queen of Hearts. “This one is Sara Ellis, another elusive female in your life, Neal,” he quipped as he pointed to the Queen of Clubs. “Now what shall we call the Queen of Spades?” he taunted. “Maybe we should call her Elizabeth Burke. With your silver tongue, it couldn’t have been hard for you to charm your way into her bed. Let’s get crazy and even imagine that your keeper was willing to make it a threesome. Now, that’s something fun to savor.”

“Get your depraved mind out of the gutter, Keller. It’s my turn to show my hand,” Neal replied coldly. He then revealed he was holding a full house—aces over eights, a hand that trumped a mere three of a kind.

Keller stared hard, but Neal picked up on a tell—a tiny, fleeting tic beside the disgruntled man’s left eye. Neal knew he had put it there, and Keller knew exactly how Neal had managed it. Neal’s opponent had discarded the Ace of Clubs in the last play, but it was now sitting, bold as brass, in a full house on the opposite side of the table. Somehow, he had missed Neal’s sleight of hand as had the watching chaperones. It wouldn’t help if Keller forced the issue by accusing Neal of cheating. He’d be considered a sore loser and be unceremoniously thrown out on his ear and perhaps blackballed by a very dangerous cadre in this part of New York. It wasn’t worth taking that risk.

Keller was quick to regroup. “Aces and eights—that’s also known as the _Dead Man’s Hand_. Just ask old Wild Bill Hickok. Perhaps you won’t live long enough to spend your ill-gotten gains, my friend.”

“Is that because you intend to kill me, Keller?” Neal asked evenly.

“Neal, Neal,” Keller said in a singsong voice. “Why do you insist on entertaining such a low opinion of me? We go way back to a time when we were more congenial. I actually still like you, even though you’ve turned rat.”

“Maybe I don’t believe you,” Neal responded with a raised eyebrow.

“What can I say to convince you?” Keller shrugged.

Neal only shrugged in return.

Keller stared hard at Neal. “Look, my old friend, there aren’t many people like us in the world. We’re brilliant, extremely talented, and an equal match in a very select cosmos of criminal geniuses. I really do enjoy our little games of one-upmanship, even though your current situation may have temporarily curtailed our competition. Why would I want to eliminate such a source of pleasure that keeps a dull life interesting and challenging? I don’t want you dead, Neal. I want you alive and kicking to keep me entertained and on my toes.”

“You called that a _Dead Man’s Hand_ ,” Neal remarked as he pointed to the full house. “So, that tells me that you know someone is out to end my life. What’s it going to take for you to part with that information?”

“You’re taking a giant leap of supposition, Neal. Why would I know any such thing?”

“Because the threat is coming from abroad, and I think you’ve recently hightailed it home to watch how it all plays out. Don’t try and say that you’re not plugged in,” Neal answered coldly.

Keller stared at Neal like he was looking at a bug under a microscope. “Let’s just say, hypothetically, of course, that I did hear a bit of gossip across the Atlantic. Why should I tell you about some frivolous revenge rantings?”

Neal stared back. “Because you’re greedy, Matthew. I know information has a price tag, so take every last dollar that is sitting on this table and cough up a name.”

Keller laughed. “What’s in that pot is chump change to people like us, Neal,” he sneered pompously. “I’ll need something a little more valuable and expensive.”

Neal leaned forward and whispered, “I may, hypothetically, be in possession of a Goya painting that has been valued by the experts to be worth over four million dollars. Unfortunately, art lovers can no longer feast their eyes on that treasure because it went missing from the Prado museum in Spain some years ago.”

Keller actually chuckled. “Only because you beat me to the punch and managed to get there before I had a chance to do my thing. Well played, Neal. Underhanded and slick, but well-played. See—you are a worthy adversary.”

“So, do we have a deal?” Neal deadpanned.

“No, I don’t think so,” Keller taunted. “You’re still low-balling me, pal.”

“So, tell me what you do want,” Neal replied.

Keller pretended to give the matter some thought. Suddenly, he sat up abruptly and snapped his fingers. “By Jove, I think I’ve got it,” he exclaimed, paraphrasing a Rex Harrison line when the old actor had played Professor Henry Higgins in the classic movie, _My Fair Lady_.

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” Neal replied sarcastically.

Keller’s face morphed into a ghoulish grin. “I believe I may desire an opportunity to gaze upon a very special treasure, something along the lines of a rather rare antique blue sapphire and diamond brooch. I heard a similar Burmese object actually went missing quite soon after a Christie’s auction in Geneva way back in 2011. It was quite a loss for the insurers because I heard that 130-carat beauty went for over seven million US dollars.”

“And you really think I took it?” Neal managed to sound incredulous.

“Oh, don’t be so modest, Neal,” Keller mocked. “That bauble was guarded like Fort Knox, so who else could pull off the theft and slink away into the night without even setting off one alarm? The job fairly shouted your name, loud and clear. When I did some investigating on my own, I just happened to find out that you were in Switzerland at the time, and I don’t think it was for skiing in the Alps.”

“I appreciate your misguided faith in my expertise,” Neal said nonchalantly. “But, let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that I might have had sticky fingers back in the day and picked up a pretty trinket for my girlfriend. Kate’s gone now, and so is every item that she owned.”

“That doesn’t ring true, pal,” Keller said with narrowed eyes. “Kate was a young thing, and gaudy antique brooches should never be worn by beautiful, vivacious millennials. They look better perched on the front of an older matron with a bosom that resembles the prow of an ocean liner. You still have that piece of jewelry hidden in your cache somewhere, Neal. That’s the price for any name I may have residing in my grey matter.”

Neal seemed to ponder the deadlock for a few minutes. “If, hypothetically, I once was in possession of such an item, I wouldn’t cavalierly have it close at hand. The Feds can be very intrusive, and they have no respect for one’s property when they dig into your life.”

“Sure, I get that,” Keller nodded in agreement. “I suppose if we’re going to do business, you’ll just have to find a way to retrieve it if it’s not close at hand. But, hey, you could send your little bald lap dog to do the fetching.”

“It could take some time,” Neal waffled.

“I’ve got all the time in the world, Neal. Not like you who’s days may be numbered,” Keller gloated. “Have Mozzie call me if the deal is a go before your unfortunate demise. We can meet and I’ll give you a piece of paper with a name and you’ll hand over a piece of jewelry. Capish?” 

“What if the name you provide is bogus?” Neal said suspiciously.

“Aw, c’mon, pal, don’t you believe in that old adage of honor among thieves?” Keller teased.

“That’s all a fantasy, Matthew,” Neal replied. “When it comes to you, there is no honor involved.”

“Well, I could say the same thing about you,” Keller parried. “But for old time’s sake, how about we give it a whirl.”


	7. Chapter 7

“So, how helpful was Keller?” Mozzie wanted to know when Neal returned to his loft and plunked down much more cash than what he started with before the poker game.

“Not very, at this juncture, but I think I made some inroads,” Neal replied. “Fortunately, there’s a deal on the table.”

“Explain,” Mozzie demanded.

“Although I offered other things, he wants that huge blue sapphire and diamond brooch I lifted years ago when we were in Geneva,” Neal grimaced.

“Wow, that’s a blast from the past. You were just a kid way back then barely starting to shave,” Mozzie marveled. “Do you even still have it?”

“Yeah, it’s tucked away in my stash in Portland,” Neal replied.

“Are you willing to part with it and just hand it over to Keller?” was Mozzie’s next question.

“I’m willing to hand over something that looks just like it,” the devious con man answered slowly. “As you said, it was a long time ago, so I’ll need to actually see it again if I want to duplicate it accurately. That means you’ll have to take the next plane to the west coast, I’m afraid. Sorry, Moz.”

“Can you really fool Keller?” the bald man next asked.

“It’ll be tricky, but I’m going to give it a go. While you’re raiding our coffers, bring back that little bundle of rose-cut white diamonds from the GIA heist. They’re about the right size and a pure G-H color. I think Keller will be satisfied when he looks at them through a loupe and realizes they’re the real deal. It would be much harder for him to authenticate the sapphire, so maybe I can pull this caper off without him suspecting he’s been had.”

“Okay,” Mozzie said slowly. “I guess you’ll be needing some specialized equipment at the ready before I leave.”

“You are a true psychic, Moz,” Neal smiled. “I’ll need aluminum oxide and a small amount of trace elements that include iron, titanium, chromium, vanadium and magnesium. I’ll also need a polishing wheel and a specialized furnace that can reach temperatures between 1,470 to 3,270 °Fahrenheit.”

“I am a wizard,” Mozzie said proudly, “but that size furnace has to be installed in some type of out-of-the-way industrial building. How are you going to justify gadding about to a place like that when Hughes notices your movements on his phone app?”

Neal had a ready answer. “If he makes it an issue, I’ll just say that June bought some new furniture and had it shipped back home from Hawaii. She called and asked me to take the old sofas, tables, and chairs to a storage facility. That explanation should fly.”

“You hope,” Mozzie mumbled.

~~~~~~~~~~

The little bald man was, indeed, a magician. Within a day, all the materials and equipment found their way into a large storage warehouse serendipitously within Neal’s radius. While Mozzie winged his way to Portland, Oregon, Neal got down to the business of alchemy. During the dark hours of the evening, he began creating a huge piece of blue corundum that needed to cook overnight and then cool before he could begin fashioning it into a rectangular cushion-cut beauty.

Upon Mozzie’s return with the original piece and a pouch of small diamonds, Neal closely studied the ornate brooch. It would be delicate work to mount the accompanying diamonds and replicate the gold and silver fret work that defined the space between vibrant blue and dazzling white. Neal was a perfectionist, and that trait had always served him well in every endeavor, be it artwork, currency, or even high-end jewelry. After three days, he was satisfied with his new creation.

“Big and gaudy, but I suppose there’s no accounting for taste,” Mozzie snarked. “I’m not surprised you never foisted it off on Kate. She would not have been impressed.”

“You’re right,” Neal agreed. “Kate would never have desired to wear this thing—it’s too old, too staid, and too dated. I didn’t intend to steal it for her. I guess I just took it because it was there and I wanted to prove to her that I could do the impossible.”

“Impressing your girlfriend seemed to be your sole focus back then,” Mozzie murmured softly, “and just look how that turned out.”

When a hollow look of loss flitted across Neal’s features, Mozzie actually felt bad. “Sorry, mon frère. It was gauche and unfeeling of me to pick at old wounds. Forget I said anything, and let’s get on with our current plan. Do you want me to make contact with Keller again?”

“Yeah, let’s get this show on the road,” Neal agreed. “Try for a meet tomorrow night in a relatively safe environment. Despite what Keller claims about not wanting to kill me, he’s not above waylaying me, grabbing the goods, and not holding up his end of the bargain.”

“How about an all-night diner?” Mozzie suggested. “There would be other people around, and maybe you could have a few of your own tough guys with you for security reasons. June has some pretty impressive relatives who fit that bill, and she could make a few calls to insure somebody is watching your back during the exchange.”

“I hate to drag June into this,” Neal objected.

“Neal, she’d want to help in any way she could. That woman loves you like a son,” Mozzie claimed.

“Just set up a rendezvous first, Moz, and then I’ll decide if I want backup. I’m used to working without a net,” Neal answered.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal returned to his desk at the White Collar office the next morning and continued with his sham of perusing old cases that he and Peter had worked. He didn’t know how much longer he could stall Hughes, so he hoped that Mozzie could set up the Keller meet soon. It wasn’t long before Neal felt a presence looming over him, and when he glanced up, Hughes was there looking like a thundercloud.

“Caffrey,” the old man boomed, “I told you it was to be home or the office for you. Did I not make myself clear? I just happened to look over your movements for the last couple of days, and it appears that you decided to go sashaying around Manhattan—specifically to what I have identified as a warehouse in an industrial part of town.”

Neal peered up innocently and was preparing to deliver his little furniture-moving excuse. “Sir, I ..”

However, before he could say another word, Diana’s head swiveled around and she cut him off. “Agent Hughes, that’s on me. I didn’t realize Neal was restricted and I asked him to accompany me to take a look at that warehouse. I’m working on a currency counterfeiting ring, and I thought it might possibly be the criminals’ base of operations.”

That took the wind out of the old curmudgeon’s sails. “I see,” was all he could manage before adding, “Did you find anything during your investigation?”

“No, Sir,” Diana replied, “but we may have to go back and widen our search to adjacent buildings.”

“No unlawful entry, Agent Berrigan,” Hughes warned. “If you think you have probable cause, make sure to wait for the proper warrant before entering any premises.”

“Of course, Sir,” Diana replied deferentially.

After Hughes stomped off, Diana turned to Neal. “I think now is the time that you and I take ourselves on a little field trip.”

“That’s really not necessary, Diana,” Neal tried to reassure his teammate. “It’s just a place where I took some of June Ellington’s old furniture to be stored. At her request,” he quickly added. “There’s nothing nefarious going on.”

“Well, seeing is believing,” Diana said smugly, “so make a believer out of me, Caffrey.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, Diana drove with her usual perilous breakneck disregard for traffic as they made their way to the warehouse. She hadn’t said a word, and Neal was frantically trying to invent some kind of excuse that might fly when she saw that huge furnace standing in the middle of the cement floor. So far, inspiration hadn’t struck. Diana had put herself in a very precarious position by vouching for him, and, most likely, her anger would be swift and fierce when she saw that he had lied to her.

“So, which building is it?” she demanded to know when they drove into the complex.

“Um, they all look alike in the daytime,” Neal waffled.

“That’s a really lame excuse, Caffrey, so don’t try my patience,” Diana huffed.

“Look, Diana, we don’t have to carry through with this charade for Hughes’ benefit,” Neal tried again. “Since he knows you’re with me, he’s not going to keep checking the app on his phone.”

“Neal, every minute that you stall has you looking more guilty of something,” Diana seethed as she pulled over to the curb. “Tell me one thing. Does Peter know what you’re up to?”

“No, he doesn’t,” Neal finally admitted. “He’s been placed in danger because of me and I don’t want to get him involved so that it happens again.”

“Are you saying this warehouse thing is somehow tied into the attempt on your life, but instead of asking for help, you’re determined to fix things on your own?” Diana asked incredulously.

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” the con man insisted doggedly.

“Which building, Neal!” Diana ignored that statement and nailed him with a laser stare.

There was a moment of extreme tension in the standoff before Neal caved. He exited the car and Diana followed on his heels until they reached a door with a padlock. Neal twirled a combination and rolled up the noisy access. A fluorescent light immediately flooded the space only to reveal a cavernous empty void. Neal felt as stupefied as Diana and immediately sent Mozzie a fervent, although silent, message of gratitude for his fast cleanup operation.

Diana stood with her hands on her hips before rounding on Neal. “I don’t see any French Provincial armoires or Hepplewhite sideboards, and there’s not a Duncan Phyfe settee in sight. So, where’s all of June’s expensive antiques? I’m betting they aren’t here because they were never here. Tell me what you’ve been doing in this hidey-hole, Neal!”

“Diana, can you please just trust me on this?” Neal pleaded.

“That’s really asking a lot,” the female agent snorted.

When Neal looked miserable, Diana softened. “Okay, here’s the deal. You tell me exactly what’s going on, and, if it’s on the level with no criminal intent involved, I’ll help you out. Like it or not, it’s now going to be Team Berrigan and Caffrey, and I decide when and if we pull the plug on whatever cockamamie scheme you have in play.”

“Do I have a choice?” Neal asked.

“Not a chance in hell,” Diana declared.


	8. Chapter 8

“I really believe someone from my past is out for revenge,” Neal began his confession over a cup of coffee with Diana in a small bistro. “I swear I don’t know who it could be, but as you can probably imagine, there are numerous people who could fit the bill.”

“So, what’s with the warehouse?” Diana wanted to know.

“Mozzie had heard some chatter on the street, and his anonymous source wanted to meet in a private place away from prying eyes,” Neal began. “We decided that the warehouse would be a safe enough spot for the tipster to feel comfortable.”

“Did this ‘Deep Throat’ person show up?” was Diana’s next question.

“No, he didn’t,” Neal spun out the make-believe story. “I waited for two consecutive nights, but I think the messenger was just blowing smoke and enjoyed making me jump to his tune while he laughed his ass off.”

“You think it was all a farce?” Diana asked.

“Probably,” Neal shrugged.

“Are you sure you don’t have any idea who wants you dead?” the female agent said skeptically.

At this point, Neal was completely honest when he replied, “I haven’t a clue.”

“Well, the next time you hear weird tales on the street, you’d better tell me, because until Peter comes back, I’m going to be on you like white on rice. The Boss wouldn’t be happy if I let something happen to you on my watch.”

“Got it,” Neal answered to forestall another argument.

~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Neal thanked Mozzie profusely for the timely removal of the gem-making enterprise.

“I had to rent the equipment from a guy who charged usury rates,” Mozzie grumbled. “Every minute that stuff sat idle was costing us big bucks.”

“Well, your quick sanitizing of the scene saved me from having to explain it to Diana,” Neal answered.

Mozzie shook his head sadly. “First, it’s the Suit, then it’s the Big FBI Kahuna, and now it’s Lady Suit—your little Federal fan club is growing by leaps and bounds, my friend. Before you know it, there will be secret handshakes and membership cards.”

Neal merely grunted. “Did you get hold of Keller? Please tell me the meet is a go.”

“Yep, tomorrow night, 2 am, at a diner in Tribeca. Now it’s time to arrange some precautions such as big intimidating dudes with huge muscles,” Mozzie replied. 

“Not a good idea, Moz,” Neal argued. “Seeing me come with an entourage may scare Keller away.”

“You always were impulsively hardheaded,” Mozzie declared.

“But you put up with me anyway,” Neal grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal could only hope that Reese Hughes wasn’t watching his phone the next night as the con man stood outside of a sleepy-looking, nondescript diner in Tribeca. If the old man was into late-night viewing, Neal would have to think up some excuse in the morning—if he survived the night, that is. Keller was already seated at a booth next to a front window, and the few other patrons that Neal could see looked like non-threatening insomniacs or people who just wanted to get out of the cold for a little while. Neal took a deep breath and pushed in through the heavy glass door before boldly strutting over to where Keller was hunkered down. He then gracefully slid in opposite his nemesis.

“So, still breathing, I see,” Keller sneered. “I suppose that’s a good thing for me. If you had bought the farm, I may not be getting a very special little trinket. I assume you have it on you.”

“I came prepared,” Neal answered evenly. “The question is, did you?”

“Quid pro quo,” Keller hissed. “Let me see it before I give you anything.”

At that minute, a tired-looking waitress ambled over with a coffee pot and a menu in her hand. Neal smiled up at her and ordered coffee as he accepted the proffered plastic bifold list of food items. After she filled his cup, Neal told her he’d need a bit more time to decide what he wanted to eat. After she returned to stand behind the counter, Neal slid the tissue-wrapped brooch under the menu and pushed it to Keller’s side of the table. Keller’s sleight of hand was almost as good as Neal’s and the item quickly disappeared into his pocket.

Neal stared at Keller and quirked an eyebrow. “Quid pro quo,” he reminded the other man.

“In time, Caffrey,” Keller stalled. “We have a deal in place, but forgive me for not trusting you. Just cool your heels while I make a quick trip to the men’s room to see what you’ve brought me.”

“It’s the real item that you wanted, Keller. I don’t trust you either. After you satisfy your curiosity, are you going to do a disappearing act out the back door and leave me hanging?” Neal asked dangerously.

“Doesn’t a man’s word stand for anything anymore?” Keller taunted.

“Not in your world,” Neal said in a deadly voice.

Keller managed to look affronted. “We go back a long way, Buddy, to a time when we had each other’s backs. Remember how I saved your naked ass in a certain Scandinavian country? We made a good team back in our salad days of youthful cunning exploits.”

“That was a long time ago before I realized what you really are,” Neal replied.

“I’m exactly the same as you, Neal, living in the same world and doing the same despicable things and lovin’ it, so don’t go getting all high and mighty on me.”

“I’ve never murdered anyone,” Neal objected.

“If your back was pushed against the wall, you’d do whatever was necessary to survive,” Keller intoned like a wise oracle.

When Neal just stared back coldly, Keller continued in a more amiable tone of voice. “Now, I guess we’ll just have to start rebuilding some trust and goodwill,” he smirked as he slid from the booth and headed to the rear of the diner.

Neal tried not to fidget and fought to steel his nerves. This was the crucial time in the perilous negotiations and you couldn’t show an enemy any chinks in your armor. Keller was probably busy at the moment peering through a jeweler’s loupe at Neal’s faux creation. Maybe he was using the diamonds to see if they could scratch a few etch marks on a glass mirror over the sink. Neal knew the brooch could hold its own, but the real question was would Keller hold up his end of a tenuous bargain?

Neal exhaled when Keller sauntered back to the booth. He didn’t sit down again. Instead, he extended his hand towards Neal expecting a handshake. When Neal’s own hand clasped Keller’s, he felt a small, folded piece of paper touch his palm. “Nice to see ya again, Neal. Take care of yourself ‘cause you’re playing in the big leagues now.”

After that mysterious statement, Keller turned and left the diner. Neal watched him melt into the inky darkness of the night before laying a $10 bill on the table and following suit. He had just pushed through the heavy door when a shout split the quiet night.

_“Gun, Neal!”_ In the next instant, the con man felt himself being struck by something akin to a Mack truck. He landed hard on the cement sidewalk as a shot rang out and shattered the diner’s glass entryway at exactly the same spot where he had been standing just a second ago. Neal tried to move but, unbelievably, Diana Berrigan’s body was atop his pinning him to the ground as she struggled to unholster her weapon.

“Diana?” Neal panted.

“Just shut up and stay down, you idiot!” Neal’s guardian angel said through clenched teeth. She had assumed a two-handed grip on her Glock while kneeling low and warily rotating in place to scan her surroundings for any sign of the shooter. When Diana felt relatively sure that whoever it was had vanished, she roughly jerked Neal to his feet and frog marched him back inside the eatery where patrons were hugging the floor. This time she chose a table far from the front window to deposit the endangered CI.

“ _FBI_ ,” she shouted as she held her credentials high for the frightened diners to see. “The excitement’s over, so maybe it’s time for all of you to go home.” She then plopped down beside Neal and nailed him with her own murderous glare. “What the hell, Caffrey?”

“I could say the same thing, Diana,” Neal retorted. “I’m minding my own business and suddenly you’re flying into me like a crazed Valkyrie and almost breaking my hip against the sidewalk.”

“Did you forget the fact that I saved you from a bullet?” Diana asked incredulously.

“I could have ducked,” Neal replied stubbornly.

Diana just snorted.

“Yeah, well thanks,” Neal managed to look somewhat contrite. “Just tell me why I now have two stalkers.”

“Because, you fool, Peter would never forgive me if I let something happen to you while he can’t protect you himself,” she barked.

“Please don’t tell him about this little incident,” Neal begged. “He doesn’t need any more stress right now while he’s convalescing.”

“Well, we can’t sweep it all under the rug. I think the waitress has already called 9-1-1,” Diana informed him. “Before the Metro cops get here, you have some explaining to do. Why in the hell were you sharing a cup of coffee at 2 am with a person of interest on Interpol’s radar. Matthew Keller means only one thing—trouble, and I want to know why you’re part of it.”

“Was Keller the one who took a shot at me?” Neal wanted to know.

Diana shook her head. “No, I was lurking in the shadows and saw him get into a black sedan and pull into traffic. However, after he left, another dude in dark clothes and a hoodie made his move. When I saw you start to come through the door, I glanced back and caught a glint of light off a gun in his hand. He meant business, Neal. He wanted to kill you.”

“Yeah, I guess I get that now,” Neal admitted.

“So, connect the dots for me,” Diana demanded. “How does Matthew Keller tie into any of this business?”

“He’s not a part of it,” Peter’s CI replied truthfully. “I think he was actually the one you called ‘Deep Throat’ because he claimed he knew the identity of my would-be assassin and was willing to share. We were meeting to determine what that knowledge was worth to me.”

“Did he give anything up, maybe an identity, for starters?” the female FBI agent asked.

“No, he’s not into freebies, so he didn’t say a name,” Neal answered somewhat honestly. “Maybe he really didn’t know anything. I think he just liked yanking my chain, so, at present, I’m still fumbling around in the dark.”

Diana still looked pissed. “Neal, why do you insist on flying solo? You seem to accept Peter as your partner, so why is it so hard for you to see me in the same light? As infuriatingly annoying as you are, I don’t want you to wind up dead. Partners work together and protect one another.”

“Did you forget what happened to you and the whole White Collar team because of me?” Neal asked quietly.

Diana found herself stymied and couldn’t come up with an appropriate answer. “One problem at a time,” she said quietly. “Hughes is sure to get wind of this and I’m going to have to come up with a way to smooth it over. I’m taking you home and that’s where you’re going to stay unless you want a roommate for the remainder of the night. In the morning, I’ll see what Hughes’ reaction is to this latest attempt on your life. I’ll call you then and let you know.”

Neither one of the pair continued their stilted conversation as Diana drove towards June’s home and actually walked her responsibility to the front entryway. “Remember, Neal, stay here and be a good boy. Don’t even think about another late-night jaunt.”

Neal gave his new protectress a smart salute before saying, “Thank you, Diana, for everything you did tonight.”

Diana merely shrugged, and actually pushed Neal through the door. When the con man had reached the safety of his loft and slid a deadbolt into its sturdy bracket, he took out Byron’s old money clip and teased the folded piece of paper from between the stack of bills. He smoothed it out and the name printed in block letters made his blood run cold.


	9. Chapter 9

The name on that piece of paper took Neal back to a time when he was barely 19 years old, a headstrong run away from the Midwest, young, naïve, and hungry to escape a truth that had turned out to be the worst kind of deceitful betrayal. In those days of yesteryear, he had inadvertently formed a relationship of sorts with a strange little bald man in New York City who was determined to be his mentor in a shady world of crime. However, that was long before Matthew Keller, Vincent Adler, Kate Moreau, or Agent Peter Burke had come into Neal’s life. They were merely gauzy, unformed specters looming on a distant horizon.

Mozzie was manipulative and quite persuasive. He claimed that Neal had infinite potential, but he needed polishing and educating before he was ready to be launched into the world of urbane, if illegal, capers. To that end, the insistent educator demanded that his student read and study everything classical, historical, and political so that he could hold his own with the type of marks they most likely would encounter on their march to riches.

Eventually, Mozzie also took his student on an extended whirlwind excursion so that he could visit the capitals of the modern world that were repositories for some of the most magnificent treasures from antiquity. Under Mozzie’s tutelage, Neal got up close and personal with the Renaissance masters in museums like the Louvre, the Prado, the Tate, and the Uffizi Gallery. Italy, Spain, France, and England became his classrooms, and he was a quick adept pupil.

To broaden his horizons even further, the pair were now venturing into a different genre of art. They had recently taken up residence in Antwerp, Belgium so that Neal could study more contemporary works that were on display at the Museum De Reede. He found the works of Goya, Félicien Rops, and Edvard Munch intriguing. He would stare at one of Munch’s versions of _The Scream_ for hours, mesmerized by the complexities of a piece that looked deceptively minimalistic. Neal hadn’t yet reached the emotional maturity to realize why he identified with the pathos in the painting.

One particular morning, Mozzie set his cup of tea down on the breakfast table in their small, rented room. “I’ve got to go out of town for a few days, mon frère,” he claimed. “I trust you can keep yourself occupied until I return.”

“What’s up, Moz?” Neal asked.

“I’ve got to see a man about a horse in Monte Carlo,” was all that Mozzie was willing to say.

“Okay, sure,” a puzzled young man agreed. The next morning, Mozzie was gone leaving Neal to his own devices. The _few_ days turned into weeks, and Neal wasn’t sure how worried he should be by the quirky little man’s extended absence. He continued to wait, but by the end of the month, the rent was due and Neal’s pockets were empty. He didn’t want to fly the coop. If he made a secretive exit, Mozzie wouldn’t know where to find him when he returned—if he returned. So, a desperate and cash-poor young man turned to what he knew best. He frequented the Antwerp Zuid Railway Station, loitering among the hordes of passengers both embarking and disembarking and cleverly relieving them of their Swiss francs, German Deutschmarks, Israeli shekels, and American dollars.

It had been a lucrative afternoon when a now-flush pickpocket sat at a small outdoor bistro table and ordered a cup of coffee. The eatery was packed with patrons, and Neal was startled when a dark-haired young man loomed above him blocking out the sun.

“Scusa,” the newcomer said with a charming smile and an Italian accent. “This place is very crowded, and the chair across from you is the only vacant one I see. Could I impose?”

Neal shrugged. “Help yourself.”

The stranger arranged himself comfortably across from Neal and ordered a cup of hot chocolate, something that was the Belgian city’s claim to fame. When it arrived, steaming hot and emitting an enticing aroma, the young man smiled.

“Nectar of the gods,” he sighed contentedly. “I can’t seem to get enough of it. Have you tried it yourself? I assume, because of your age and your accent, you are most likely an American foreign exchange student? Imbibing in the national trademark beverage must be in all the college guidebooks.”

“You’re assuming a lot,” Neal answered shortly, leery of probing questions from unknown persons who were very chatty.

The young Italian took that answer with good grace and even looked intrigued. “I get it. You want to play it cool like one of your tough male Hollywood actors in their blockbuster films. Maybe you want me to guess things about you until I get the right answer. So, let me play your game. If you are not here to study something stodgy like banking or finance, maybe you’re a rich American tourist on holiday. Do you have indulgent parents bankrolling you?”

Neal was reluctant to reveal too much about himself. He slickly sidestepped the inquisitive probing. “Your first question was about the chocolate. Actually, I haven’t had any hot chocolate yet. I’m more into coffee,” was all Neal admitted.

The newcomer laughed in delight. “I beg to differ. I think you’re more into stealing, my friend. I’ve watched your very admirable skills all morning and I was quite impressed. My name’s Angelo, by the way. Care to tell me yours?”

Neal managed to look taken aback and insulted. He rose from his chair to leave while saying, “I think you have mistaken me for someone else.”

“Please don’t go,” the young Italian urgently pleaded. “Perhaps I was very clumsy in my approach. My father loves to tell me that I’m sometimes impulsive and rude. He also claims I have a lot to learn, and he treats me like a child. I’m 21, so I’m not a child!”

“I’d love to talk Daddy issues with you, Buddy, but I’ve got some place to be,” Neal insisted.

Neal’s stalker looked stricken. “Oh, you mustn’t be offended or afraid. I assure you that I’m not a threat. I’m an admirer who needs someone to talk to in this stuffy old city. You look like you’re about my age, so let’s discuss other interests—perhaps music concerts, pop stars, and foxy women. Who was the hottest babe you ever got into the sack? After you regale me with the details, please share your pick-up lines.”

In spite of himself, Neal found himself smiling. “You are a strange one, Angelo. What I will share with you is my name—Neal. All the feminine mystique stuff is off the table.”

“Ah, Neal, so you don’t kiss and tell. How admirable and chivalrously Old World of you,” Angelo grinned right back. “If that’s truly a verboten subject, then let’s talk about your other talents. I really meant what I said about the pickpocketing. It was awesome.”

“Are bad boys your thing?” Neal asked curiously.

“I am a ‘bad boy’ by default,” Angelo explained quite seriously.

“Is that a fact?” Neal replied with all the sarcasm he could muster up.

Angelo looked indignant. After knitting his brow, he made an impulsive statement. “I’m going to let you in on a secret—very true and very impressive. My father is one of the most powerful criminals on this side of the Atlantic Ocean, and he’s promised to teach me the business so that I can one day step into his shoes. However, at the present time, he’s insisting on being overly protective and dragging his heels about letting me be part of his team. Sometimes, it infuriates me!”

“Aren’t you a little old to be having childish tantrums, Angelo?” Neal taunted.

“I’m probably as old as you, maybe older,” Angelo sulked. “You’re doing your criminal thing, so why don’t you think I’m capable of doing the same, especially considering who my father is.”

Neal decided to call the boastful boy’s bluff. “So, impress me, Angelo. Tell me who this masterful criminal father is who seems to have your best interests at heart?”

Angelo scanned the diners around him and leaned in close to whisper, “His name is Leonardo Notarbartolo.”

Neal shrugged indifferently. “I’d like to be awestruck, but, unfortunately, I’ve never heard of your father.”

Angelo was, indeed, immature, so like a teenager, he tried bragging to improve his image. “My old man is a legend in the Sicilian Mafia. He heads up La Scuola di Torino, an established and highly-regarded gang back in our homeland. People show him respect and deference.”

“If you say so,” Neal replied nonchalantly.

“I do say so because it is true,” Angelo insisted. “In fact, he’s been here in town for the last five months planning the perfect crime. When he puts it into play right under the noses of the police, everybody will know of his cleverness and skill.”

Neal looked thoughtful. “Isn’t the objective of any theft a little less flamboyant. A good thief would want to get away with a prize but remain anonymous so that they aren’t relentlessly pursued by the authorities.”

“The police will have to prove that the crime was of his doing. Knowing and proving are two different things,” Angelo said smugly.

“So, what’s his target?” Neal asked, never dreaming he would get an answer.

“The Antwerp Diamond Center,” Angelo said proudly as he sat up straighter and puffed out his chest.

“Now I know you’re into telling fantasy stories, Angelo,” Neal snorted. “That place is an impenetrable fortress. I’ve done some research on my own, just out of curiosity, I assure you. The vault has a 3-ton steel door in the anteroom that can only be opened with a special key after a combination with one hundred possible sequences is first entered. It is also equipped with every type of stopgap measure known to man including infrared heat detectors, Doppler radar, a magnetic field, and a seismic sensor. Undertaking a diamond heist in that building and making a successful escape into the ether is virtually impossible.”

“My father is a brilliant man and he employs other technical geniuses, so it _will_ be possible,” Angelo insisted.

“Let’s say that I believe you are being sincere,” Neal drawled. “Do you think your father would approve of you telling tales out of school?” Neal asked this immature and less than discrete boy, so insecure with his place in the world that childish boasting was his way of getting attention.

“I guess if you don’t believe me, then nothing I say makes any difference,” the youth pouted, looking hurt and dismayed.


	10. Chapter 10

Angelo magnanimously insisted on paying the tab at the bistro before the two young men parted ways. Neal was a bit embarrassed that he hadn’t detected a shadow during his pickpocketing venture. Now, he was much more aware of his surroundings, and discerned, quite quickly, that Angelo was dogging his steps, day after day, through museums, restaurants, and even grocery shops.

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?” Neal asked impatiently when he had his fill of being stalked and finally confronted Angelo.

“Not really,” the young Italian admitted with a grin. “I told you that my father pigeon-holed me, so I’m bored and lonely. From what I’ve seen, you don’t have much going on at the moment either. Maybe we can do nothing together.”

Neal shook his head at the innocent yet beguiling admission and smiled. “Sure, Angelo, tag along and we’ll try to keep each other entertained.”

Mozzie still remained mysteriously absent for the next two weeks, so Neal filled the void with Angelo. They ate meals together, took in a few movies, and tried their hand at chess while enjoying the sunshine in a local park. Angelo couldn’t seem to maintain the intense concentration necessary to play that game with any degree of success. Neal was patient and instructive, explaining the various strategies to place an opponent in jeopardy. Angelo tried to remain engaged, but it was clear that neither his heart nor his head was in the game. He was constantly jiggling his leg or becoming distracted when a pretty girl walked by. It was on one such afternoon that they were joined by a third person.

Angelo glanced up and then beamed at a dignified and somewhat older dark-haired man who was smiling benignly. “This is my father, Neal,” a proud son proclaimed.

“Sir, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” Neal said as he stood and studied the fabled mobster of his son’s imagination. The tall, debonair man looked anything but dangerous or treacherous. To Neal’s eyes, he simply looked like an indulgent and relaxed father as he put his arm around his son’s shoulders. For just an instant, Neal was jealous of Angelo because he had a doting parent who obviously loved him and was present in his life.

“So, this is your new little playmate,” Angelo’s father said as he turned to Neal. “Unfortunately, my son needs constant stimulation or he becomes impossibly whiny and surly. I suppose I have you to thank for keeping him occupied as well as less annoyingly petulant.”

“I think we were both a bit at loose ends and in need of some distractions,” Neal replied easily. He couldn’t help noticing that Angelo seemed to bristle at the none too subtle put down by his father. Perhaps a son had a right to be resentful of his father’s condescending attitude. Neal supposed that no one had an ideal life and there were always tradeoffs to be endured.

However, the next time that Neal and Angelo met for lunch, the young Italian was in a joyful mood. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet and exuding an over-the-top exuberance.

“What’s got you so fired up?” Neal asked curiously.

“It’s actually going down tomorrow night,” Angelo whispered excitedly—“the diamond heist I told you about when we first met. The best part is that my father is finally going to let me in on it. After the next twenty-four hours have elapsed, you will find yourself convinced that my story wasn’t a fairy tale.”

Angelo’s enthusiasm was contagious. “What’s your role?” Neal asked.

“Well, not a really big role,” the young man admitted. “My father has two other men who will be doing the heavy lifting with him. After they collect the haul, they’re going to divide it into four satchels and all go in different directions before meeting up again in Turin. I’m going to be one of those couriers. I’ve got the Peugeot all gassed up and a map in the glovebox of the Pelikaanstraat and the E-19 heading out of the city. The Belgian police can watch my dust!”

“You’re serious, aren’t you,” Neal said in amazement. “You have no doubts or feelings of apprehension?”

“None,” Angelo assured him. “Neal, this is my chance to prove to my father that I’m a man.”

“Then I’ll be cheering you on from the sidelines,” Neal replied honestly. However immature and carelessly indiscrete Angelo was, Neal had developed a soft spot for the young Italian who seemed so guileless and eager for praise and acceptance. However, he felt blindsided when Angelo offered something off-the-wall.

“Want to be my wingman, Neal, when I make my getaway? There’s nothing in it for you except the wildest adventure of your life. In the future, when you have your own children, you can regale them with an unbelievable story that you witnessed firsthand from the passenger seat of my car flying down the road with a stupendous treasure between us.”

“Your father may not think that’s such a good plan,” Neal said, although he was tempted to join this zany young man riding an endorphin rollercoaster.

“He never has to know,” Angelo whispered. “I can let you off somewhere in Luxemburg or even Germany, maybe even with a few little pretty diamond sparklers in your pocket. My father will never suspect a few are missing.”

Neal considered his own situation. Like Angelo, he was still stuck on the back burner while learning to be an upscale con man and thief. Mozzie hadn’t given him the go-ahead yet to enter that enthralling world of challenging danger. But Mozzie wasn’t here. Maybe Neal’s little teacher would never come back. Perhaps it was time for an impetuous Neal to step up and try his wings without worrying about a backup strategy.

“I’m in,” Neal declared firmly.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next communication from Angelo came during the pre-dawn hours on Sunday. He excitedly told Neal to meet him at the train station, and the impetuous young Italian looked like a kid on a sugar high when he screeched to a stop and leaned over to unlock the passenger door. Neal slid in and stared at the leather satchel nestled on the console between the seats.

“Is that it?” Neal asked, just to clarify what he was getting into.

“Part of it,” Angelo confirmed. “My father thinks the entire haul will probably be over $100 million, so this little bag probably contains a quarter of that. I took a quick look and it seems to be a small sea of precisely cut pieces of ice. Are you impressed now?”

“Very,” Neal admitted in awe. “So, your Dad really did it. That’s truly amazing. So, where are we headed?”

Angelo grinned and looked proud. “Everyone is leaving for different cities like Brussels and Rotterdam, and we’ll regroup later. I’m supposed to drive straight through to Italy. That’s a 10-hour trek, so maybe we could take turns at the wheel. I can leave you off anywhere you choose, but before we part company, grab a handful of these little beauties so you can remember me fondly when you’re living the high life.”


	11. Chapter 11

Angelo pushed down hard on the small car’s accelerator, and Neal’s upper body was thrown against the seat back. The Peugeot’s tires squealed as they spun on the cobblestones before gaining traction and allowing the vehicle to careen wildly down the deserted early morning streets. Neal braced a hand against the dashboard as Angelo took hairpin turns in excess of 70 kilometers per hour with the metal spokes of the hubcaps emitting sparks as the Italian sideswiped the curb. The pair of young men looked like giddy, wayward teenagers going on the joyride of their life.

Once they were clear of the congested and closely packed cityscape, the roadway opened up and led into a less-densely populated countryside. Angelo immediately goosed the little Peugeot even more, and Neal struggled to connect his seat belt and shoulder harness as the needle on the speedometer edged up into the red zone of almost 120 kilometers.

“Maybe you ought to slow down a bit,” Neal advised.

Angelo snorted in disgust. “This car is like a plodding old draft horse. When my father gives me my share of tonight’s haul, I’m going to buy a real stallion, something like a low-slung and powerful Maserati convertible. I’ll have women flocking to me in droves and begging for my attention.”

Those words had barely left the young man’s lips when the sound of a siren could be heard somewhere in the distance behind them. Angelo became rigid before sending Neal a frightened glance and trying to get more power out of the Peugeot. Neal could feel the car’s chassis shuddering in protest.

“Take it easy, Angelo,” Neal coaxed. “The police probably saw you blow through town like a bullet train, so just pull over, look ashamed and embarrassed, and let them issue you a citation for exceeding the speed limit ordinance. After we deal with that, then we can be on our way again at a sedate pace until there’s some distance between them and us.”

“Did it slip your mind that there’s a big bag of stolen diamonds sitting here right between us?” Angelo said nervously as he kept his eyes on the dark winding road that had now led them into a heavily forested area with absolutely no ambient light. “If they search the car and find them, it will only be a matter of time before they link it to the heist and then to my father. We have to try to outrun them!”

Neal held his breath as vertical woody shapes flashed past the passenger window like a silent army standing in parade formation. These dark warriors of the forest seemed to loom closer and closer as the width of the roadway narrowed. Unfortunately, the overall condition of the asphalt had deteriorated in places, and unanticipated potholes threatened the integrity of car axels rotating at a high rate of speed. Although Angelo kept his right foot to the floor, the wailing siren was gaining on them.

“Damn it,” the Italian roared in frustration. “They’re like greyhounds after a rabbit.”

“Be smart, Angelo,” Neal begged. “If you insist on challenging the authorities and making this some dramatic high-speed chase, the cops will get really pissed off. They’ll just radio ahead and tell some compatriots in the next little town to set up a roadblock.”

Now Angelo was truly afraid and his terrified mind immediately provided a less than prudent solution. “They can’t arrest us for a diamond theft if they have no proof,” he shouted as his eyes took on a crazed glint. Before Neal could react, Angelo was fumbling with the satchel on the console. He impulsively grabbed a fistful of the gems and tossed them out the window. When Neal dared to hazard a glance behind them, the twinkling pieces of carbon had been engulfed by the shadows and become part of the black roadway.

“Angelo, stop!” Neal shouted. “Get a grip!”

But his demand fell on deaf ears as the young, panicked Italian tried to hold the wheel steady with his knees and then reached both of his hands into the leather case again and again. More valuable gems became flying objects sucked into the vortex of the rushing wind.

Neal was aghast. “The cops are still pretty far back and they can’t see us yet. Just let me toss the satchel out of my window into the trees,” he begged. “We can always come back for it later!”

It was but a nanosecond before that option was taken off the table. Angelo’s inattention to the road caused him to miss an approaching sharp curve, and the valiant and struggling little Peugeot shot off the motorway and became airborne before bouncing on the thickly-packed forest vegetation and sliding down an embankment. It all seemed to happen in slow-motion, but Neal would never remember the descent into hell because the deployment of an airbag at the bottom of the ravine rendered him temporarily disconnected from reality.

Neal wasn’t sure how long he was mentally incapacitated. When he did manage to open his eyes, it was to shadowy darkness with just a soft ticking sound in his ears. Neal began to remember that he was in a car, one that apparently had come to an abrupt stop and whose engine was rapidly cooling in the pre-dawn air. He sensed a thick haze around him that stung his eyes and seemed to lodge in his throat. At first, he thought the car may have caught fire, but then realized it was the fine dust particles suspended in the claustrophobic space from the deployed airbag. He coughed deeply and that brought on intense pain. His shoulder and chest were throbbing in agony, courtesy of the vehicle’s safety restraints that had held him securely in place. A hurting and confused young man tentatively moved all of his extremities and breathed a sigh of relief when everything seemed to work and he didn’t feel any broken bones poking through his skin.

Neal rested for a few seconds before squirming uncomfortably to release the seat belt. He then fumbled in his jacket pocket for his phone. When he clicked on its flashlight and surveyed his immediate surroundings, bile suddenly backed up from his stomach into his esophagus and he was gagging violently. Rash and foolhardy Angelo hadn’t been belted in, and when the car impacted with the thick trunk of an ages old pine tree, the young Italian had been thrown headfirst through the windshield. Lying half in and half out of the car onto the crumpled hood, his neck had large, jagged pieces of glass embedded in it, and he was covered in his own blood as a result of a severed carotid artery.

Neal scrambled like a frightened deer from the car. He needed to put some distance between himself and his young friend’s wide unseeing eyes that were now staring back at him opaquely in the artificial light. Frantically backpedaling, he fell over a tree root and landed on his butt. Neal knew he was hyperventilating and on the brink of a panic attack, so he forcefully commanded himself to inhale and exhale slowly. It was during this determined mind-over-matter exercise that his ears picked up the sound of that insistent siren. It was getting closer and it’s wail more intense, so a resigned young man knew the end of the marathon was near. He actually felt numb and almost like he was a voyeur watching someone else meet their fate. As he sat quietly in the shroud of darkness, the shrill screaming sound reached a crescendo high above him on the road, and then, unbelievably, became fainter and fainter as it surged ahead in the determined pursuit of a vehicle no longer in the race. Apparently, the little Peugeot left no telltale trace of its fatal launch that had delivered Angelo into the arms of death.

Neal wasn’t sure how long he sat in the woods. It could have been minutes or hours before the early morning rays of the rising sun produced long shafts of misty, almost ethereal illumination onto the forest floor. He pushed off the ground with his hands and stood unsteadily in clothes that were damp with dew. He took a deep breath and forced himself to narrow the distance to the wreckage of the car so that he could peer in at a young, impetuous man that he barely knew. Angelo’s body was still trapped in the same position within its metal and glass coffin. His life had ended prematurely because of a desperate attempt to prove himself a man in his father’s eyes—a parent who would never again get to teach his offspring or even berate his immaturity. Surely there were lessons to be learned from this shocking and sobering tragedy.

Like Angelo, Neal was a neophyte in a criminal world, but unlike the reckless Italian youth, he had paid attention to his mentor’s lessons. Neal could almost hear Mozzie’s stern voice _—“During a caper, keep your wits about you and never leave a trace of yourself behind.”_ Mindful of those wise, cautionary words, Neal leaned in and used his shirtsleeve to wipe down any surface in the car he may have touched. In doing so, he found himself staring down into the partially-opened leather satchel that had been thrown to the floor during the impact. Neal could still see the glint of a handful of diamonds on the bottom that hadn’t yet been discarded. As if on autopilot, Neal allowed his cold fingers to curl around the handle and pick the bag up. He zipped it shut, hefted it over his aching shoulder, and then forced himself to once more gaze at Angelo.

“You deserved a better future, my friend,” he whispered softly, “or at least a longer life in which to become older and wiser. Your father should have realized that you weren’t ready to walk in his footsteps—at least not yet. You were a lost soul, Angelo, wanting, needy, and desperate, but I’ll make sure that you stop being lost. I promise that somebody will come for you so that you can go home to rest.”

After saying his poignant farewell, Neal trudged up the steep incline to the meandering and treacherous thoroughfare. He kept putting one foot in front of the other along the narrow shoulder of the road, ignoring the now frequently passing vehicles that fanned his clothes with tiny whirlwinds of dust as they flew by. It took hours for him to retrace his steps back to Antwerp, and when he was finally deep within the metropolis, he scanned the cityscape until he found the spired silhouette he desired. It was an old and venerable Catholic church that had probably stood in that very same spot for decades. Because of the lateness of the hour, all the Masses of the day had already concluded and the faithful had long since departed. When Neal tried the massive oak doors, they were locked, but to a sneak thief, locks were no impediment.

Neal quickly and covertly gained entry, and, by the colorful spectrum of the various stained-glass windows, found the ornately carved confessional boxes located on both sides of the nave. He approached one and opened the tiny cubical where a priest would sit to hear penitents whisper their sins. Tonight, without hesitation, a contrite and sorrowful sinner situated the leather satchel containing the remaining diamonds against the far wall. Again, as before, there would be no discernible prints left behind, and Neal deftly exited the holy place of worship and blended in with the local foot traffic. There was one last thing to do before he limped back to his tiny apartment. He needed to make an anonymous phone call to the authorities so that he could give them the location of a fatal vehicular accident. Angelo needed to be reunited with his father.


	12. Chapter 12

By the next evening, it seemed that all of Europe had heard of “the heist of the century” that had taken place in the city of Antwerp, Belgium. Newspapers and newscasters alike told of a daring larcenous incursion into a place that was said to be impenetrable. It was evident that someone hadn’t gotten that memo. The investigators had discovered the damning evidence consisting of 123 opened and empty safe deposit boxes strewn around the floor of the vault. The Antwerp Diamond Center was still reeling and hadn’t yet provided an estimated value for the stolen loot that not only included polished and rough diamonds, but other extravagant, expensive pieces of jewelry, as well as cash.

Neal followed the news for the next two weeks. He bought a local paper every day and read it, page by page. It was all about the diamond robbery, but he couldn’t find even the slightest mention of a fatality discovered in a wrecked car along the E-19. It saddened Neal to think about his short acquaintance with the likeable young Italian. Poor Angelo, so hungry for recognition in his fantasy world, didn’t even warrant a mention in real life.

~~~~~~~~~~

On Monday morning of the next week, Neal was startled to see Mozzie saunter through the door of the apartment as if he had just returned from an errand to the grocery store to purchase a carton of milk. He offered no explanation or excuse for his months-long absence. Instead, he peered at Neal myopically and announced, “Time to head out, mon frère, back to the States.”

Since Mozzie was determined to keep secrets, then so was Neal. The little bald man would never know of Neal’s harrowing escape from death. Most importantly, he would never know that Neal had sacrificed a cache of diamonds because they seemed tainted with an emotionally fragile man’s blood.

Neal remained silent as he sat beside Mozzie on a Delta airbus bound for JFK in New York, and his mentor assumed that his protégé was in a snit about being left alone for so long. Well, Neal would just have to grow up and stop acting like a pouting teenage girl. Mozzie wasn’t into coddling. Being raised in an orphanage had blunted any feelings of empathy the bald man might have harbored. Instead, a hard life had made him insular, wily, and smart. He contented himself concocting capers, making plans, and sticking to them until the prize was won. A moody Neal needed to get with the program because there was a certain business mogul named Vincent Adler who could possibly turn out to be their white whale, if they played their cards right. Back then, the cunning little conniver couldn’t have anticipated that the mark would outfox them all, putting him, Neal, and his newly acquired paramour out on the street, penniless and back to square one. It would be an avalanche of bad karma after that—prison for Neal and death for his lover. Peter Burke would be just the last item in a long list of annoying abominations.

~~~~~~~~~~

Well, it was now years later, and a naïve and inexperienced Neal had, indeed, grown up. Enduring the hard lessons that life had dished out had seen to that. Sitting spellbound in his loft, he found himself staring at a ghost from the past. The name, Leonardo Notarbartolo, was written on the piece of paper Keller had passed to him in the diner. It was the catalyst that had started Neal’s journey back in time tonight. He hadn’t thought of the urbane and suave older Italian in years. Maybe now it was time to unearth some historical facts, courtesy of the Internet.

Apparently, after the heist had gone down, the Belgian police began to suspect that there was a team of robbers who broke into the Antwerp vault that fateful day. The intricate job had to have been carefully planned and orchestrated, and they were determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. They dug deep and watched old, recorded footage of frequent customers who routinely visited their locked security boxes. Someone had to have physically eyeballed the procedures and protocols that were in place, as well as the electronic surveillance and monitors. Eventually, the name of a self-proclaimed Italian diamond broker emerged as a person of interest.

The authorities raided Notarbartolo’s home in Turin and uncovered a modest array of cut and polished white gems rolled up in an antique Persian rug. The Antwerp diamond experts were able to identify those as some that were stolen in the “heist of the century.” Notarbartolo was arrested and brought back from Italy to stand trial in Antwerp. Of course, he never gave up the identities of the others on his team, so most of the stolen property was never recovered. He was sentenced to prison, and his tenure behind bars was a long one. He had finally been released just one year ago. If Keller’s intel was correct, an Italian father had now crossed the pond and was in the United States—specifically New York City. He had come to kill Neal.

~~~~~~~~~~

Just as Neal had kept his secret from Mozzie, he was now determined to do the same with his current associates. Peter could never know, nor could Diana or Hughes. Neal had to take care of this problem himself on the downlow. If that meant cutting his anklet and disappearing in the wind, then so be it.

Thankfully, that dire alternative hadn’t been necessary because, amazingly, Diana became an unwitting ally in Neal’s desire for secrecy. She managed to spin the story of the shooting at the diner when she talked with the Metro police. She claimed that she was about to grab a cup of coffee in the eatery after a long night surveilling some shady character that White Collar had in their crosshairs _—“Sorry guys, I can’t elaborate on an on-going investigation.”_ She also told the responding officers that she had spotted a tricked-out pimpmobile with four young thugs cruise by and shoot out the glass door. “Probably some wanna-be gangstas trying to look tough, maybe a type of initiation thing.” She also had helpfully provided the first two numbers from a non-existent license plate. Neal’s identity was never revealed.

“I owe you, Diana,” Neal said gratefully when she later clued him in.

“Just don’t go flying solo anymore, Caffrey,” she warned.

“I hear you,” was the answer she got in return.

Thankfully, Hughes and Peter remained unaware of the second attempt on Neal’s life. Peter was still marooned at home, not having been cleared by his doctors to return to work. He was chomping at the bit and calling his CI at least three times a day demanding to be kept in the loop. Neal tap-danced as fast as he could without actually telling Peter any lies.

“If you do anything to set back the Boss’s recovery, you’re dead meat,” Diana threatened.

Neal favored his teammate with his most innocent “who me?” expression, causing her to mumble some colorful but not very complimentary adjectives under her breath. But Diana was right. Neal had to protect Peter, just one of the many people he had come to care about. In order to do that, he had to confront the danger head-on with his own plan. Now it was time for Mozzie to become a negotiator again and tease some cooperation out of Matthew Keller. Neal needed his old nemesis’ assistance one more time.

Mozzie wasn’t happy about this new request. “Neal, if you keep lying down with dogs, you’ll get fleas. Is that annoying little menace even still in town?”

Neal shrugged. “I don’t think he’d leave before seeing the conclusion of this melodrama. So, in the meantime, he can be useful to me.”

Mozzie snorted. “That oily little dude’s not into charitable causes or favors. You’d have to dangle another stupendous prize just out of reach of his hot, grubby hands.”

Neal smiled. “I still have another card to play. He was tempted by that Goya painting that I initially offered, even though he tried to tamp down his enthusiasm. Now, he’ll be just as interested.”

Mozzie sighed dramatically. “Does this entail another redeye flight to the West Coast? I mean, I appreciate the frequent flyer miles, but sitting in a little metal tube zooming across three time zones is tedious. Did you know that the stingy airlines don’t feed you even a donut on those long flights anymore?”

“Moz, I appreciate your martyrdom, but the Goya is close by. It’s only a ferry ride away on Roosevelt Island.”

“So, what’s your play for the long haul?” Mozzie seemed a bit mollified by Neal’s answer.

“To get Keller to call me so that I can give him his marching orders. Hopefully, he’ll agree to play a middleman, just like you. I want him to arrange a sit-down with another someone,” Neal said mysteriously.

“Do I want to know who?” the little man asked curiously.

“No, you don’t,” Neal replied emphatically.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re juggling with chainsaws?” Mozzie mumbled as he left his friend’s apartment.


	13. Chapter 13

It didn’t take long for Keller to get in touch by phone. “Neal, my boy,” he cackled in delight, “I can’t tell you how entertaining it is to watch you try to dodge the bullet, and I mean that literally. You’ve really fallen far if you have to depend on some Amazonian woman from the FBI to save your ass.”

“Cut the critique, Keller,” Neal growled. “I’ve got another proposition for you.”

“Lay it on me, Jean Valjean,” Keller continued in an interested tone.

“Arrange a sit-down between me and a certain Italian, out in the open with other people around, and within my radius.”

“Oh yeah, right. Your limited mobility puts quite a crimp in your style. Sorta makes this whole game like shooting fish in a barrel,” Keller snickered. “What’s in it for me?”

“The Goya,” Neal answered shortly. “If the meet happens, then I’ll text you the address of a storage facility here in the city. If I’m still alive and breathing afterwards, I may even text you the exact number of the locker and the combination of the padlock securing it.”

“That’s a lot of ifs, Buddy. Are you counting on your silver tongue to talk your way out of your rather deadly predicament?”

“Are you in or not?” Neal ignored Keller’s goading.

“Maybe I’ll see what I can do,” was the answer before Keller disconnected.

~~~~~~~~~~

Keller was an expedient messenger boy, and the date, place, and time quickly landed on Neal’s phone. It was doable, since it was a restaurant within Neal’s radius in Manhattan. However, since Hughes had agreed to hand off the responsibility of Neal’s continued good health to Diana, she would notice that he was freelancing instead of hiding like a frightened mouse. He would deal with the fallout afterwards, if he was still alive.

Two nights later found Neal sitting in a booth at an Italian trattoria in the city. He was idly stirring his spoon through a bowl of thick minestrone soup when he felt a presence looming above him.

“It would seem that this is a popular place,” an older man remarked. “Perhaps, since you appear to be dining alone, I could join you.”

It was eerie hearing that short statement, almost a word for word parody that the man’s smiling son had once said to Neal at a little café in Antwerp many years ago. However, this newcomer wasn’t smiling. Without waiting for an invitation, Angelo’s father slid into the booth across from the con man and stared menacingly.

“You haven’t changed very much in the last decade and a half,” Notarbartolo said as he glared hard at his dinner companion. “It seems that life has been good to you.”

“Sorry, but I can’t say the same thing about you,” Neal responded. That statement was true. The older man was completely grey and there were deep grooves etched into the flesh around his eyes. An ugly scar ran across one cheekbone, and he was also sporting the beginnings of heavy jowls near his jawline. Past trauma and the erosive effects of time had resulted in a very haggard picture.

“Unfortunately, long years have a way of wreaking havoc on a trapped and caged man,” Notarbartolo replied. “While in prison, you are prevented from living a life, so you endure as best as you can. It’s like being placed in suspended animation in a sarcophagus with iron bars. The world continues to turn on its axis while you know nothing of actual reality.”

“What does that ancient history have to do with me?” Neal challenged. “I wasn’t responsible for putting you away.”

“No, I don’t believe you were,” Neal's stalker agreed. “But you were responsible for something much more cruel and callous.”

“You have me at a disadvantage, I’m afraid. Perhaps you can be a bit more specific,” Neal answered.

“You know exactly who and what I am, so do you really find that an explanation is necessary?” Notarbartolo asked incredulously.

Neal heaved a sigh. It was time to get to the heart of the matter. “Look, friend, I don’t have your diamonds, if that’s what you think. I didn’t back then and I don’t have them now.”

The Italian snorted. “Do you really believe that’s what this is all about? If so, then you are an insensitive fool. It’s about Angelo, my only son.”

Neal looked deeply into a father’s eyes. “I am very sorry that Angelo died. I was sorry when it happened and I still feel that way. But I was not responsible for the accident that took his life.”

The old man shook his head in disgust. “Did you know that I didn’t come into the knowledge that he had died for over 15 years? Can you even imagine wondering what happened to your only offspring, the not knowing and the constant worry? It was only after I had served my time that I could use my not inconsiderable means to hire a private investigator to find him. Turning over rocks after a decade and a half was a monumental task. It took many, many months of Herculean effort. But I paid my sleuth well, and, eventually, he put all the pieces of the puzzle together.”

“And what was the picture that was shown to you?” Neal asked carefully.

Notarbartolo narrowed his eyes. “He discovered that 15 years ago the police had eventually located a mangled car along a deserted stretch of a highway leading away from Antwerp. There was a dead body inside of that vehicle. A deflated airbag on the passenger side of the car led them to conclude that there had been a second occupant present when the deadly crash occurred. I didn’t need a crystal ball to know that it was you. Back then, you were Angelo’s only friend. However, at the time, the investigating authorities only knew that a very deviously clever person had disappeared into thin air leaving no traces of himself. He hadn’t crawled away to die as well, and he hadn’t tried to get help. Regrettably, his identity remained a mystery to them. Just as they couldn’t identify him, they also were unable to identify the deceased young man left behind because he had no passport or driver’s license within his pockets. After an interval of time, that unfortunate person was interred without a name in a potter’s field in Belgium. My beloved Angelo was buried in unhallowed ground, not in our family crypt within the walls of our church yard in Turin. He was put into the cold ground like a pauper without anyone to claim or mourn him.”

“I’m truly very sorry,” Neal replied softly. “Angelo died trying to protect you. It was a quick death and I don’t believe he suffered, if that helps at all.”

“It doesn’t,” a grieving and vengeful father said harshly.

“So, now it comes down to revenge, an eye for an eye?” Neal asked quietly.

“I have had time to give that some thought,” Angelo’s father mused softly. “Besides being quite tedious following you around, day after day, putting a quick end to your life from afar means it will all cease much too quickly. You must suffer anguish for your sins, just as I suffered grief and agony for years. You need to worry about people that you care for, perhaps even love, just like I did for what seemed like an eternity. You can’t protect them all, Neal, and it seems there are quite a few.”

Notarbartolo was well informed and began ticking people off on his fingers. “You appear to be quite fond of a short bald man, as well as a few FBI agents. In fact, one actually almost died from the poison meant for you. Then there are other coworkers in your office that seem special to you, and let us not forget a very wealthy older matron. Eventually, she’ll come back home from her extravagant vacation in Hawaii. I will kill them, one by one, and for you, it will be like death from a thousand cuts. Perhaps, in the end, you will welcome your own demise.”


	14. Chapter 14

Keller didn’t waste any time contacting Neal that night. He phoned just as Neal left his menacing dinner companion and was returning to his loft. “Okay, Buddy, I need a location and access information for that Goya.”

“Not quite yet, Keller. You still have an additional assignment to complete before I share the details,” Neal replied.

“You reneging on a deal, Caffrey?” Keller roared! “I’ve got a fence and a buyer in Spain all set up to take possession of that painting. Now you’re changing the terms of our agreement? That’s not cool, not cool at all. There may be consequences.”

“Stop with the threats, Keller. It’s not as if you haven’t snubbed a promise during the long years of our acquaintance,” Neal answered sternly. “And I’m not going to screw you. You’ll get your prize eventually after you do one more thing.”

“Like what?” Keller huffed.

“Tell me exactly where my would-be assassin is laying low while he’s in New York. Get that information, and then you can be off to Barcelona or Madrid to conduct your business. And don’t drag your feet. This is time sensitive,” Neal advised.

Keller simply disconnected without answering.

Neal’s next tough negotiation was with Diana the next morning. “Damn it, Neal!” she fumed. “I pulled up your tracking app this morning, and imagine my surprise when I saw that you treated yourself to a pasta dinner last night in the heart of Manhattan. What part of keeping a low profile don’t you understand?”

Neal went on the offensive with a frustrated expression on his face. “Diana, just how long do you intend to keep me swathed in cotton batting and tucked away in what you consider to be a safe little cocoon? I’m getting cabin fever. Peter has always wanted to protect me, but he has never taken me out of play. You’re like an overbearing nervous mother hen with all this hovering. I can look out for myself—been doing it for years. Just give me some space to breathe!”

“Who saved your ungrateful ass just last week?” Diana retaliated.

“I’m not ungrateful,” Neal assured her. “I’m happy that you were there at the right moment. But I’ve been flying by the seat of my pants for a long time, and that’s business as usual for me. Give me some credit for knowing how to survive.”

“And if this time your luck runs out, that will be on me,” Diana answered. “I don’t want you on my conscience for the rest of my life, Neal.”

“Aw, I knew you loved me,” the con man teased. “And it just so happens, I find that I love you right back.”

“Don’t push it,” Diana growled.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So, I take it that Lady Suit is not happy with your sashaying around the city,” Mozzie proclaimed like a wise old owl.

“Nope, and that’s something that we have to deal with very soon,” Neal said.

“What have you got simmering on the stove, mon frère?” Mozzie wanted to know. “I know you’re up to something.”

“Maybe, but since a watched pot never boils, Diana has to stop watching me,” was Neal’s answer. “The only way to accomplish that is to somehow disable my anklet. Got any ideas, Moz?”

“I can’t remotely render it dysfunctional by hacking into the Marshals’ data base. I’ve already tried that. The only way to stop it from transmitting is to somehow break the thing.”

“How about shutting down it’s circuitry?” Neal asked.

“You mean like some sort of power outage?” Mozzie asked with his brow knitted. “Maybe I can manipulate Con Ed’s power grid for a bit, but they have back-up generators that would immediately kick in, so that’s like minutes rather than hours. I’m assuming you’ll need a bit more time for whatever you plan to do.”

“Yeah, I would,” Neal agreed. “So, I guess we have to figure out a way to fry this thing while it’s on my ankle.”

“I could use some live wires to short circuit the little doohickey, but that entails you receiving a pretty big shock to your body. A jolt like that could be dangerous for your continued good health.”

“A lot of things are currently dangerous to my health, as well as the well-being of others,” Neal said softly. “Let’s do it tomorrow night. After we do the deed, the Marshals will call Diana and she’ll show up here. I need you to be here as well, and I want you to dial up your Mozzie antics to a ten so you get on her last nerve. Maybe then she’ll throw in the towel and leave me alone for a bit. There’s someplace I need to be which is probably outside my radius, and Big Brother can’t suspect a thing.”

“I can certainly be a Dante Haversham lit up on steroids,” the little bald man simpered in delight. “I’ll give a performance worthy of an Oscar.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, Neal carefully put away his new 3-D printer just before Mozzie arrived after midnight. Neal’s cohort came bearing an assortment of oddities as well as a case containing an AED in his hands. “This portable defibrillator is just in case we need to restart your heart again,” he said blithely.

Neal grimaced at the implication, but he thought this was the only way to buy himself some time away from prying eyes. He had to admit he was a bit nervous as Mozzie, looking like a mad caricature of Thomas Edison, began connecting wires to batteries with finesse. “Ready?” Mozzie intoned solemnly as those live wires hovered over Neal’s anklet.

“Go for it,” Neal replied as he gritted his teeth.

Being electrocuted was not only shocking, it was also quite painful as Neal felt his body stiffen and jerk. When he could regain his composure and draw in a breath, he gazed down at his left leg and was thankful to see no little green light mocking him.

“Houston, we have lift-off,” Mozzie said gleefully.

“Yeah, and now we wait for the pissed off posse to arrive,” Neal intoned softly.

Neal was right. Just a half hour later, Diana was barreling through Neal’s door looking murderous. The con man was innocently sitting on his couch with a piece of charcoal in his fingers creating drawings of the nightscape illuminating his panoramic view of New York. He wasn’t alone. Mozzie was there as well, ensconced on the floor in lotus position. He was wearing a skimpy sleeveless t-shirt over his scrawny chest and extremely tight-fitting yoga shorts over his nether regions. The total effect of his outfit bordered on obscene. Loud sitar music filled the confines of the small apartment as the little man repeatedly intoned deep, solemn yoga ohms.

“Diana,” Neal sang out as he looked up at his late-night visitor in mock surprise. “What brings you to my humble abode at this hour?”

“Your tracker failed,” she barked as she jerked on the con man’s pant leg. “What did you do to it?”

“I didn’t do anything to it,” Neal answered truthfully as he gave the small, darkened square on the anklet a perplexed look.

“A little quiet, please,” Mozzie added his two cents from the floor. “I’m trying to meditate and find my inner core of bliss, but all your yammering is blocking my chi.”

“Shut up, you little twerp,” Diana said testily. “This isn’t about you!”

“Oh, lady, you’re exuding really bad energy,” Mozzie shook his head sadly. “That’s definitely not the path to inner peace. Maybe I can brew you some chamomile tea with a little melatonin and CBD oil—all quite pure and perfectly medicinal, I assure you.”

Diana just ignored Mozzie and was on her phone to the Marshals. “Yeah, Caffrey’s still in place, but his tracker is definitely not functioning. He’ll need another one ASAP.”

After a minute, her face took on a hard look. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’re not just some errand boys, and I get that you have other responsibilities. Look, dude, we’re all busy with a job to do, so get me a new anklet for Caffrey now!”

After a second, Neal watched Diana take the phone away from her ear and stare at it in sheer amazement. “Problem?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Those bastards actually hung up on me,” she said unbelievably. “They claim the earliest they can deliver a new anklet is tomorrow morning at the FBI office.”

Neal shrugged. “So why is that a problem? You know Peter removes my tracker all the time when I go undercover.”

“But Peter’s not here right now, so that makes me wonder if you’ll stay put,” Diana said harshly.

“Seriously, Diana?” Neal looked affronted. “Do you really think that I’d take off while Peter is down for the count? I could never take advantage of him in that kind of situation. Can’t you, just for once, trust me?”

Diana glared. “When Peter lets you off your leash, he watches your back to keep you safe. Now, unfortunately, that responsibility falls to me. It looks like I have to be your designated babysitter tonight,” she ended her sermon as she plopped down in a nearby chair.

It wasn’t long before the female agent regretted her choice of seating arrangement. Mozzie decided to unfold himself on his yoga mat, and he began executing some hatha yoga asanas right within her field of view. He held the “Downward Facing Dog” position for at least ten minutes while his junk was practically staring her in the face. Then it was on to the “Happy Baby” pose in which he lay on his back and lifted both thighs with his hands. Diana didn’t have to imagine what the bald man’s scrotum or penis looked like. They were distinctly outlined right before her eyes within the skin-hugging spandex.”

“That’s just so grotesque,” Diana finally remarked in disgust. “Enough with the contortionist routine, you little dweeb, or you may find yourself permanently stuck in that twisted way.”

Mozzie looked affronted. “Your negativity is affecting my delicate sinuses,” he declared with an offended air. He then went to retrieve his netty pot and began a nasal irrigation followed by a cacophony of loud honking and the snorting of thick mucus that even threatened to turn Neal’s stomach.

Diana finally admitted defeat. “Okay, Neal, I’m going to give you a little leeway. Stay here in your loft out of harm’s way, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Don’t make me regret this!”

“I’ll be ready when you arrive tomorrow,” Neal promised.

After a disgruntled Diana left, Neal and Mozzie shared a fist bump and a grin.


	15. Chapter 15

“Now it’s time for you to hit the road, as well,” Neal told his friend.

“Yeah, I get it,” Mozzie sighed. “There’s something you need to do and you don’t want me to get in the way while you’re doing it. I know it pertains to your stalker.”

“Maybe something like that,” Neal hedged.

“So, I’ll respect your secrecy, but I’m still going to worry,” Mozzie said as he pulled on a velour tracksuit over his scanty yoga ensemble.

“I can take care of myself, Moz,” Neal said, perhaps trying to reassure himself when he said it. Because of an old transgression, Neal now had his back pushed to the wall. When you find yourself in that precarious position, it changes you. Those kinds of stakes make you take desperate actions to protect those you love as well as yourself.

Mozzie gathered up his things and had his hand on the doorknob when he turned to face Neal one last time. “You know you just have to call if you need me.”

“I do know that,” Neal whispered fondly, although he couldn’t help thinking back to a time long ago when that hadn’t been the case. And he certainly didn‘t share the fact that he was going to valiantly try, one last time, to talk a determined and deadly madman out of his obsession.

Finally, Neal’s little comrade turned and melted into the shadows of the stairwell. Neal stood listening to the soft, receding footsteps before fetching his own piece of special equipment. It was time to end this.

~~~~~~~~~~

Keller had come through, and thanks to his latest intel, Neal knew that Notarbartolo was hunkered down under the radar in a seedy roach motel in East Harlem. Neal donned black jeans, a black hoodie, and then pulled a black knitted watch cap down over his ears. He practically became part of the night and was unrecognizable when he used the subway to get him where he needed to be. It was probably close to 3 AM when he quietly ascended the fire escape stairs to a room on the second floor of a flop house popular with prostitutes and pushers. He silently used a glass cutter to remove a circle over the pitifully flimsy lock securing a window overlooking a deserted alleyway. Like a dark phantom, he slid in through a now open window and stared at a confused older man suddenly startled from his sleep. The room was completely dark, and the white LED illumination from Neal’s penlight served to blind Notarbartolo. He didn’t realize what was happening until he heard Neal’s familiar voice.

“This ends here and now,” the con man said evenly. “I can appreciate the loss that you’ve suffered, but that wasn’t my doing. If you need someone to blame, perhaps you should look to yourself, Mr. Notarbartolo. You raised a son but you never afforded him the parental guidance to mature into a man. Angelo never really grew up because you refused to let him. It wasn’t surprising that he panicked when faced with a threatening dilemma.”

“He was my child! What can you ever know of deep loss?” Neal heard the old Italian snarl from the shadows.

“A lot, actually,” Neal said softly as he pictured Kate.

“I was a good father!” Notarbartolo insisted.

“I’m sure you’ve convinced yourself that you were, but think back on your actions as a parent. You chose to criticize Angelo rather than mentor him, so he always felt like it was impossible to please you or to measure up to your expectations. You made it obvious that you didn’t trust him to be a responsible adult. You kept him on the sidelines, eager and wanting, but not adequately prepared. That made him start to believe that he was of little value to a father he loved and wanted to emulate. So, after that diamond heist, you sent an emotionally ill-equipped boy to perform a man’s mission and, not surprisingly, it ended tragically. Angelo died while trying desperately to be what he thought you expected him to be.”

“Don’t lecture me on parenthood, Caffrey,” the old man spat out.

“Well, then let me lecture you on revenge,” Neal tried again to reason with a dangerous quarry. “Killing more people won’t bring Angelo back, and it won’t erase the guilt you must feel. You know what I said is true, so own it.”

“You fucking bastard,” the ambushed man snarled as his hand disappeared beneath a pillow on the bed and he swung around with a pistol in his grip. Neal dove low, and he heard a bullet thud into the adjacent wall where he had been previously standing. The con man agilely skewed his body around and returned the favor with his own firearm. In a nanosecond, Neal heard the old Italian huff out a breath and crumble to the floor. Neal’s weapon was quite warm in his hand because part of the firing mechanism had literally melted. Guns that were assembled from synthetically manufactured parts were only good for one shot, so the shooter had to make that do-or-die opportunity count. Unfortunately for Notarbartolo, only one hastily fired bullet was necessary to end what had become a personal blood feud.

Neal quickly slithered from the open window, jumped to the ground, and made his way out of the dangerous neighborhood. A few blocks over, he saw a group of homeless people huddled around a fifty-gallon metal drum that was ablaze. The unfortunate and disenfranchised fringes of society were burning anything they could scavenge in an effort to keep warm. Neal sauntered over and deftly tossed the remains of his plastic pistol into the fire before losing himself in the shadows once again.

Sleep didn’t come during the remaining hours of that fateful night. Neal had never taken another life, but now he was a murderer, and it was hard to come to come to grips with that. No matter what the circumstances, could he ever justify actions that were irreparable and permanent in the direst of ways? Death was forever, and tonight he had been an executioner. It made Neal physically ill and he refused to gaze at his own reflection in the mirror. He also stubbornly refused to entertain the notion that he had ultimately become his father in order to save the man whom he wished had been his father.

Nonetheless, he rallied before Diana picked him up a few hours later. That’s what good con men do. They don their armor and erect their pleasing but artificial facades to keep people from seeing their black hearts. Neal was an excellent con man.

In a few days, he heard chatter around the coffee machine. Organized Crime had gotten handed an unusual case. An old Sicilian mobster, just recently released from a European prison, had turned up dead in Harlem. Apparently, it wasn’t a robbery because all the man’s rather substantial cash still remained in his billfold. He died from an almost point-blank shot to the forehead, but apparently not before the old guy had gotten off a shot from his own gun that was still in his hand.

Ruiz and his cohorts in Organized Crime concluded this was some kind of hit—a vendetta from the past, or maybe from a new rival branch of the Sicilian mob faction that had moved to the States. They didn’t put a lot of effort into their investigation. Que sera, sera. They had more contemporary mob problems to tamp down.

Eventually, Peter returned to the White Collar office and resumed the responsibility for his CI. “Did you give Hughes or Diana a hard time while I was away, Neal?” he asked sternly.

“Oh, come on, Peter, I was my usual charming and amiable self,” Neal stretched the truth, knowing he was far from the same man anymore. He had forged a new identity—that of a killer’s psyche.

“Well, I’m a worrier,” Peter tried to defend himself.

Neal smiled. “You needn’t have fretted, Buddy. I did my job and took care of business while you were laid up.”

Peter stared at his friend speculatively, and a troubling little gremlin in his brain caused the hair on Peter’s neck to tingle. Just what, exactly, had Neal done to take care of business? How had he managed to convince a dangerous threat to stand down? So far, Neal was like a cat with nine lives, always landing on his feet. But that could change in a heartbeat because a non-violent offender was constantly being pitted against criminals who were into violence with lethal intent. Poisoning was definitely deadly, but maybe a clever Neal had managed to broker some kind of sketchy deal to keep the wolf from his door. Peter certainly didn’t want to hear those kind of details, so, instead of probing deeper, he simply asked a question.

“Do you believe this poisoning thing has blown over, Neal, or do you think you still might be in danger?”

Neal shrugged and looked unconcerned. “Some unknown person’s identity may always remain a mystery. Maybe you, my archeologist friend, should just let some things stay shrouded in antiquity. I think we have other current criminals to worry about. Let’s not revisit the past, Partner.”

Peter had worked with Neal for a long time, and knew there was a hidden meaning behind that deflection. What he was really saying was, “Ask me no questions so that I don’t have to tell you any lies.” A wise FBI agent decided that was the best way to go.

Neal swanned back to his desk and ruminated on his advice to Peter, something he couldn’t personally take to heart. He kept remembering Keller’s taunting words that were texted to him following Neal’s own message providing the location of the Goya. He had assumed that Keller would greedily collect his prize and be off to Spain. Perhaps the irritating and amoral criminal was, in fact, awaiting the departure of his outbound flight at the airport when his ominous response pinged Neal’s phone.

_“Didn’t think you had it in you, Neal. Remember what I told you about being pushed to the wall? Well, I was dead on. Now we’re brothers under the skin—just two depraved killers committing atrocities. Guess you’ll be keeping me company in hell one day!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has a factual basis, although I have altered and embellished a bit to make it relate to Neal. The Antwerp diamond heist, dubbed the “Heist of the Century,” was one of the largest robberies in history. Thieves stole loose diamonds, gold, and jewelry valued at more than $100 million. It took place during a weekend in February 2003. Leonardo Notarbartolo was thought to be the mastermind. He was arrested and served time, but most of the stolen diamonds remain unrecovered to this day.


End file.
